Scandalous
by MarrieSue
Summary: After the war, Draco had to participate in Auror training with old school nemeses. Harry thought his life would soon be just like how he planned. Oh well, life sometimes had its own way of working things out! New chapter uploaded!
1. Prologue

**Summary**: I'm not particularly good at summaries. Let's try this out. - After the war, Draco had to participate in _Auror_ training with old school nemeses. Little did he know the means to an end didn't always lead to a path predetermined. Harry thought his life would soon be just like how he planned. He would become an _Auror_, be with Ginny once she graduated, and live happily ever after. Oh well, sometimes life had its own way of working things out.

**Author's** **notes**: This fic was originally inspired by GypsyRaeyven's video on youtube. The video can be found at .com/watch?v=booYXyX0Mcw. I hereby include a link to it. Awesome video, by the way!

**Warnings**: Epilogue spoilers, slash, bad language, sex, angst, fantasy

**Disclaimer**: The Harry Potter universe (all recognizable characters mentioned all institutions, situations, events and happenings) is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. The following work is fanfiction. No commercial use of this work is intended nor is any revenue being made from it or any website which it may be archived on.

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><p><strong>Scandalous<strong>

Prologue A Mad World

_Malfoy Manor_

It was an early September night; the starry night sky was clearly visible, whilst the wind still blew gently. Draco Malfoy stood in darkness, looking through his window, waited for the moon to arise. The manor always seemed so peaceful at this time of the night. The window muffled the sound of wind, but he could almost see the water in the fountain waving, the shadow of Klorofi tree on the ground dancing to even the lightest touch of wind. A few inches apart, his reflection frowned in the framed glass.

A flash of green light suddenly lit in the fireplace, 'Draco, a word in the study, please.' His father's head popped up.

'Yes, Sir.' Draco replied quietly.

As he walked down the stairs, he wondered what this might be about. At a loss, he stepped into the study. Lucius was seated behind the mahogany desk. He looked up from a pile of scrolls when he heard the footsteps, 'Have a seat, Draco.'

'Is there a reason you wish to see me, father?' asked Draco.

'Well, as you are aware,' said Lucius, slowly sitting back in the armchair. 'The recent events have left the family name in shambles. While you and I have a duty to restore the family name, we must act out of our ways in doing so.'

The family name, Draco signed. This was the subject he was hoping to avoid because there was no easy answer. He shut his eyes for one quick second. The room fell into silence. The only sound could be heard was the clock hang on the other side of hallway making faint 'tick, tick' noise.

'How may I be assistance, father?' He asked.

Lucius replied nothing but handed him a scroll from his desk. Draco held it out and read:

_ The Ministry of Magic_

_ Kingsley Shacklebolt _

_ (Order of Merlin, 1__st__ class)_

_Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Wiltshire_

_Dear Mister Malfoy,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Auror training program administered by the Ministry of Magic. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary reading materials and equipment. Program begins on November 1. We await your owl by no later than September 30. _

_Trainees will require:_

_The Advanced Book of Spells: For Things that Change by Euty Chides _

_Irresistible Potion by Rhy Senn_

_The Object of Dark Forces: A Comprehensive Manual to Preservation by Azrael Geffen_

_Soldier's Welcome: A Guild to Magical Combat Strategy by Lomon Aaeren_

_Reparation: Advance level of Healing Spells by Sara's Girl_

_The Procedures of Discovery: 101 Ways to Detect Secrets by Vora Biza_

_Power Play: How to Master Non-Verbal Spells by Dah Lia_

…_._

Draco stared into the letter in bewilderment. Something exploded in his head and the echo just went on and on. He looked into his father's eyes, wanting to find some pieces that might solve the puzzle in front of him. But his father revealed nothing. Slowly, he mumbled, 'Father, it must be a mistake. I have the mark…'

'Yes. Shacklebolt is aware of that,' said Lucius, watching him. 'However, he agreed that an example should be set for those families who were affected by the war. After all, the war is over. One must move on. He also felt that your knowledge of certain aspects might be appreciated amongst _Auror_. Now, I see it is a great opportunity to-'

'But father, the battle has only been over for three months. I cannot possibly join _Auror_ given-'

'I am not asking you.' Lucius's voice now had a stern to it. 'You ought to know what is expected of you. You will attend _Auror _training. We must each act our role in rectifying what others see in us.'

'How am I supposed to get along with…'

'Enough. You are going to attend.' Lucius said with a wave of his hand. That was a sign of dismissal. Draco knew it when he saw one. 'Now your mother wishes to have a few words. She is expecting you in Salon.' His father directed his attention back to the pile on his desk.

Draco felt his inside writhing, filled with wonder. He gazed up to his father, wishing he could say something to change his father's mind. Then it was clear to him, he didn't have a choice or opinion in this. Finally he reached for the door.

Salon was a smaller reception room that his mother favoured now. They all avoided the drawing room, and a number of other parts in the Manor. Perhaps if they just stayed out of those places, the awkwardness, the unpleasant memories would eventually fade away.

His mother was seated in one of the French lounge chairs. On the side table besides her, he saw a small tea service that had white steam coming out. She called out, 'Draco, would you like to join me for tea?'

'Tea is lovely, mother.'

He watched Narcissa poured with elegance and ease into a green porcelain cup, inlayed with a gold trim on the edge. 'I trust your father has informed you the news?' Narcissa asked while stirring milk and sugar in his cup.

'I don't know what to make of it.' Draco answered, his eyebrows raised.

'Your father only has the family's best interest at heart. One ought to improvise at difficult times.' His mother said with an air of reproaching.

Draco signed, feeling slightly exasperated. 'I know. I am just no sure this is the best option. Didn't Shacklebolt make the announcement in the_ Daily Prophet_? That one says all students fought in the battle can join _Auror _without the _N.E.W.T_.? They hardly gonna dance up and down for joy to hear a death eater joining them, not to mention a Malfoy, not even for Merlin's sake…'

'Draco, there is no need to exaggerate. We just wish you to try this out for the family.'

Draco watched his mother, sensing another surge of defeat. 'Fine. I will be at the Ministry's paw. Let my ancestors roll in their grave, a Malfoy taking up employment.'

'Now you just made it sound preposterous,' his mother managed a small smile. 'I got you down here to tell you, your father and I thought you should reside at the Malfoy townhouse while you trained.'

'I don't understand. What do you mean, mother? Surely, I can just apparate. ' Draco asked tentatively.

'Well, it might be good for a young man to explore the world a little. We love you and the Manor is always your home. We just thought you might want to spend your time here and there. Besides, it is closer to the Ministry'.

So this was it. He was going to work in the Ministry and he was moving out of the Manor. Draco looked pass his mother until his gaze fell upon the window behind her. The moon had just risen and he could see the Klorofi tree glowing pearl light. Those curtains of light twirled across the night sky, into a spread of silver fog in far distance. Oh, Merlin, give me strength, he thought.

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><p><em>12 Grimmauld Place, London<em>

'Harry, Harry,' Ron's voice came from downstairs, 'I don't believe this…'

'What is it, Ron?' Harry asked as he stepped outside the door, leaning over the stair railing and looked down.

Ron was waving his hands furiously at the fireplace, 'Dad, this cannot be true. You must be pulling my leg…'

'What is it?' Harry asked again, walking down the stairs.

'Well, Kingsley and I had a word. He told me there would be someone unexpected joining _Auror_ training with you and Ron…' said Arthur Weasley's head in the fireplace.

'Why don't you just tell him it's the bastard Malfoy-'

'Ron, really-'

Harry was confused now. This was a name he certainly did not expect to hear. And truth to be told, he thought very little about that name for quite some time. 'Mr. Weasley, surely there has been a mistake. He is a death eater…'

'Was a death eater. The war is over, Harry,' Arthur paused, then added with dedication, 'Kingsley thought it was in everybody's best interest to put it behind us. The family did switch in allegiance in the war…'

'Yeah, the very last minute,' said Ron angrily. 'It is a wonder they are not all in Azkaban. He has the mark…bloody death eaters deserve rotten in hell…'

Harry digested this development in sheer amazement, remembering the last time he saw the Malfoy family. It was two weeks after the battle in Hogwarts, there was a hearing for the family's suspicious involvement at Wizengamot. Harry was there by the Ministry's request to give testimony on death eater activities. The family seemed agitated and uncertain, which was probably only nature under the circumstances. Ron and Hermione also gave their testimony, then three of them went to Diagon Alley before the verdict was delivered without a second glance. It wasn't until later he heard that the family narrowly escaped imprisonment in Azkaban only because Narcissa lied to Voldemort concerning Harry's death.

'...Listen, I know you boys are upset. But if the Malfoys are willing to correct their ways, this can send a message to the rest of them. We lost enough of our kind in the war. Now we must hold together to get through this…'

'Did Malfoy's dad buy his way into this, like always?' Ron demanded.

'Ron, I've got to go. We will talk about this more later.' Arthur's head disappeared in the fire place.

'Harry, what do you think?' Ron turned to look at Harry. 'Speak to Kingsley, would you? He must listen to you. This is bad joke and I am not bloody laughing. If the Malfoys can reform, I can bloody drive a Muggle car.'

Harry contemplated the thought of speaking to Kingsley, amused by the idea of Ron driving a car. Ron seemed to be fixated ever since Hermione took him to see a movie. It must had driving scenes in there. No matter how many times they explained to Ron afterwards that the movie must have been edited and it took training to do special stunts with vehicles, he still was fascinated with the notion. Then he didn't know what came over him, 'Well, I am sure Kingsley had his reasons. I mean, they must have enough to deal with right now…'

Ron gasped, staring at him with month open as though Harry had suddenly grown two heads. Harry chuckled lightly, the war was over, maybe it was time to concentrate on something else for a change. He watched as Ron was walking to the kitchen, still muttering, 'This is utter madness. Got to tell 'mione. The whole world has gone mad. Madness, I tell you…'

Harry laughed loudly, with a huge grin on his face, he thought, yes the war was over. It was the beginning of a new era.


	2. Ch 1 The Beginning of a New Era  1

**Chapter 1 The Beginning of a New Era**

**Part 1**

_Euston Road, London_

Euston Road was busy as usual at one o'clock in the afternoon, filled with cars passing through the narrow motorway, and the never-ending travellers on the pavement. As November wore on, the cleft of sky was hardly detectable between the heavy, dark clouds. Occasionally a lone leaf, withered in the sun until it was brittle and brown, picked up by the harsh wind, flew into icy air before it fell down again. Little did people know, a different world existed deep under the ground. If you were truly magical, you would find your way to Abracadabra – the library of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Damn, damn, damn, Draco cursed, the first two weeks of _Auror_ training had been hell. With no small amount of irritation he raced down the stairs of Abracadabra furiously. How in Merlin's name did he end up with three Gryffindor was beyond him. That statement wasn't accurate since he knew what happened. It was because his family picked the wrong side of the war, looked at where that got them. Because he was a pureblood wizard who was brought up in believing blood purity mattered. Because he was a Malfoy, a Slytherin who was now being forced to play nicely with those Gryffindor self-rigorous, insufferable idiots.

_Auror_ training was a combination of apprenticeship, lectures, and field practices. Of course he never got to practice in the field. They might have allowed a former death eater to train as _Auror _but clearly he wasn't trust-worthy to go in the field. Robarts was acting as if he wasn't there most of time, just like the others, but every morning Draco would find a pile of parchment dumped on his desk. It suited him just fine. The notion of taking field trips with _Aurors_ and three Gryffindors was even more unbearable.

Harry Sodding Potter, that Weasley fool, and bumbling Longbottom. Draco rolled his eyes in frustration. Life seemed to play cruel tricks sometimes. If anyone dared to tell him that he would end up taking employment with Weasley and Longbottom during his school years of Hogwarts, he would hex that person into the next Millennium without any hesitation.

Mostly the trio did their best to disregard him, which wasn't difficult at all. Given that not much collaboration was required for lessons and he was confined to his desk while three of them accompanied other _Aurors_ on field trips. Except that redhead weasel often shot death glares in his direction. A ridiculous attempt to intimidate him, no doubt. Draco wasn't foolish enough to believe that the next three years of _Auror_ training would remain uneventful. However it could have been a lot worse. He was content with the silent treatment until all hell broke loose this morning.

He was filing _Aurors_' field reports in the office. They were on their way out and the ginger git was going on about something loudly as usual. Draco wasn't paying attention since he couldn't care less. But the level of noise made him raise his eyebrows as he lifted his head from the scrolls he was filing. Unfortunately the weasel turned around and saw him. Clearly wasn't happy at the sight of Draco, he bellowed, 'What the hell are you looking at, you death eater scum?'

His face crinkled in disgust; all that freckles were fold up, together with bright red hair. The very image made Draco feel sick.

The utterance continued, 'I don't know what they were thinking by letting you be here. You lot should all be locked up in Azkaban. All those people died because of filthy shit like you…'

Suddenly Draco saw red. He pulled all the strength he ever had to stop himself from yelling back. Remember you're here to do what you had to do. The rest of them can all bugger off.

Longbottom was looking back and forth between him and the weasel nervously. Potter shifted uncomfortably, opening his mouth to try to calm the weasel down, 'Ron, shut it. We got somewhere to be. Let's go…'

'Did I say anything that wasn't true? He is just a miserable fuck who lost his master…'

Draco decided he had heard enough. He was going to get up, draw his wand, and shove _'Silencio'_ with a sharp sab.

Potter was faster; he grabbed his friend with a firm grip, voice raised, 'I said, shut it. It isn't our place to criticise what the Ministry wants to do. Let's go!' He practically had to drag the weasel out.

Draco was outraged. How dare the bloody weasel. Did they think Draco actually wanted to be here? His mood didn't improve even when he was on his way to Abracadabra during his lunch break. Abracadabra was the biggest library for magical kind in Britain, held an extensive list of literature and journal regarding anything referenced to magic. A trip to Abracadabra usually comforted him, but today was a different matter.

He remembered the first time his father took him there when he was very young. As Lucius held his hand, walking through the iron gate, his father said to him, '_The pursuit of knowledge is neither right nor wrong but merely prompted by one's desire to actualise, a mean of advancement. However, we shall not be blinded by the keen delight of knowing_.' A young Draco just nodded to his father; his mind was too occupied as he was utterly fascinated by the calm and peaceful atmosphere.

What had changed? How did they all end up following that half-blood Voldemort? The thirst for power was never considered deprecate among pureblood families. As a matter of fact, most of them worshipped power and strength, so did Malfoys. Did the pursuance lead them to this awful end? Or was it the fundamental belief itself? Where did it go wrong?

A wizard's blood was a powerful substance, where the magic originated. Without it, they would be no different from Muggle. Perhaps it was pointless to debate that now but Draco knew his responsibilities. Since a very young age, Draco was repeated taught by his father that every Malfoy ought to hold the family name in scared, which should never be disgraced in any manner. It was this very concept persuaded him to accept his father's terms.

He stopped at the reference section, took a deep breath and started searching for the title he wanted. I will not let this get to me, there're things I needed to focus on, he thought sharply with a determination.

The room of reference section was quiet and the ceiling was charmed to look like clear, bright sky. A short while later, he found what he came for, whispered, '_Accio_ The Book of Potion Preparation'. The book was old and dusty. He found a chair nearby and begun reading:

'_…Many plants are either poisonous or hallucinogenic, or both, such as Atropa Belladonna, Aconite. Without proper preparation, the potion can be dangerous to wizards. A skilled Potion Master should prepare the ingredients with caution…_'

As he concentrated on the ancient transcript, he abruptly heard a female voice interrupting, 'Malfoy, I presume?'

'Who wants to know?'

He was a bit annoyed. Could a man read in peace? The intruder, however, was a stunning young witch who was regarding him with a polite smile. She appeared in her early twenties, long dark hair, creamy skin, big watery eyes with long, curve eye lashes, and rosebud lips. He was baffled. There was no way he wouldn't remember meeting a girl this pretty. He studied her face in scrutiny. She looked familiar but he couldn't quite recall any previous encounters.

The girl chuckled a little, making a lovely sound. 'I don't think we have ever been formally introduced. I am Ayla Wethersfield. I went to Hogwarts, too. Probably a few years before you did.'

Now it rang a bell. He vaguely remembered a younger, more childish face that resembled the one in front of him. She wasn't a Slytherin for sure. 'Which house were you in?'

'Ravenclaw. I graduated the class of 95.'

He widened his eyes as realisation sank in. 'You are that Wethersfield…'

The Wethersfield girl. Silly he didn't recognise the name straightway. She was one of rare students Snape ever apprised, providing that she wasn't Slytherin. She was three year his senior and in a different house, so they never crossed their paths. But she was often talked about in the Slytherin common room and many of the older boys commented that she was 'the look and the brain'. She might have been a half-blood, with a Witch mother and a Muggle father, if his memory was correct.

She grinned. 'Yes. I am that Wethersfield. I hope there were nice things said about me.'

'Off course. Actually I remember you were brilliant in Potion.'

Draco felt sad when he thought of his Potion Master. It was complicated. The man was a paradox, his own feelings were mixed. He grieved over Snape after the final battle. But everytime when he thought about it closely, there was always more questions than answers. Then again he wasn't the only one Draco had lost in the war. Now it wasn't the time nor place for this. He shook his head as if he could get rid of his thoughts, inviting the girl to sit right next to him. 'Have a seat, please. So how have you been?'

'I've been well… I went to a Muggle University after Hogwarts to study Applied Chemistry.' Wethersfield said.

'Chemistry? As in wine making?'

'It is a form of Alchemy, a study of the science of matter and the changes it undergoes.'

'Matter? What is a matter?'

Draco was confused and rather surprised. Not many people would speak about Muggle studies to him with such an open enthusiasm. Well, it was normally a non-occurrence. No wizards or witches alike would be mumbling anything tenuously related to Muggle to the Malfoy heir.

'You can consider some aspects of the concept incorporated are similar to Potion. That was the reason I studied it. They all involve putting things together then they become something else.'

'I see.' Truth to be told, Draco didn't understand what she was saying. But there was no need to embarrass an attractive, young witch.

'I am very glad to have found you here today. I take it, you were good at Potion yourself?'

That coming from Wethersfield was definitely a compliment. Draco was flattered, at the same time feeling slightly awkward. 'Moderate, I suppose.'

'You are too modest. You see, I am a member of a collaboration group in Potion Studies. We research and experiment on new recipes, ingredients, preparation, anything related to Potion really. We don't have that many members…'

She mentioned a few names. Some of them Draco had actually heard. It seemed the members were from a number of European countries.

'…Anyway, we are all young wizards and witches who have come out of school not so long ago and share a passion in Potion brewing. It would be our honour to have you as a fellow member.' She gave Draco an encouraging smile.

Draco's heart was beating fast against his ribs. Without doubt it sounded intriguing. He had developed a curiosity towards Potion for many years despite he never really had friends who could share the interest with. The excitement vanished when he remembered his current situation. Crap!

'I would be really glad to. But I am working in the Ministry at the moment. I don't know how much commitment you are requiring. It might be difficult…'

'Most of us have other obligations as well. That isn't a problem. For instance, I am opening a small store in Diagon Alley. As a hobby, selling brewed potion and some other stuff...' The girl wrinkled her nose and laughed.

Draco, on the other hand, was looking at her as if she was some kind of rare magical creature. Wizards generally didn't purchase potions from a shop, though few were competent enough to make a half-decent potion. He was oddly captivated. There was something about her just seemed so jolly. Without thinking too much, he said, 'In that case, it would be my pleasure to be a part.

'Oh, the pleasure was all mine. May I call you Draco? Please call me Ayla. Now, let me tell you the research we have been doing….'

Draco laughed. Life was full of surprises. Even going back to a desk in the Ministry didn't seem so dreadful after all.


	3. Ch 1 The Beginning of a New Era  2

**Chapter 1 The Beginning of a New Era**

**Part 2 **

_**Ministry of Magic**_

Harry told Ron and Neville that they should head to the Leaky Cauldron with the others and wait for him there. After that he Apparated back to the Ministry. Tomorrow - on his day off, he planned to call on Mrs Tonks, so he went back to get Teddy's present, which he purchased several days ago at lunch time and ever since kept forgetting to take it home. It was a drum shaped rattle, charmed to make different kinds of sound once shaken.

Never had so many toys when he was growing up, he had no idea what was suitable. And that day the rattle in the shop window caught his eye, reminding him the Muggle one he had found in the cupboard where he slept, old and broken, among the things aunt Petunia didn't bother to throw out. It made weird whirring sound but Harry played with it anyway. His cousin only parted with his possession when they became so wore out. By then Harry would get hand-me-down clothes, toys, automatic pencils that never wrote properly.

The seven-month-old had grown so fast; he always got noticeably bigger than last time Harry had seen him. Teddy was such a bundle of joy, waving his little arm excitedly, turning his hair to black whenever Harry was around. And Harry was fond of his godson, cherished every second he spent with Teddy; even the sight of a giggling infant warmed his heart more than anything.

It had been a hectic day. After the morning lecture, three of them, accompanied by Savage and Williamson, sat on a house that was apparently marked due to suspicious circumstances. They hid behind the hill overlooking the house in question, watched the comings and goings for the whole time. Yet nothing concrete came to light. Harry had rather enjoyed _Auror_ training. He liked all the lectures and assignments so far, even Potion was looking more delightful without Snape breathing down his neck.

If Harry had to be honest, Dawlish, one of the _Aurors_, always made it his personal mission to make sure the trainees know how privileged they were. It was him who told them, the trainees weren't supposed to be given a desk each until qualified and they grossly benefited from the significant decline in number.

Dawlish's frequent injuries were somewhat of a running joke within the department, and given the circumstances of his prior incapacitations, Harry found it sickening how he could look so pleased with himself. Rumours had it, after the war, Kingsley considered having him arrested for complying with the Death Eaters' rule. However, Wizengamot was unwilling to prosecute; they argued if every single one of those who worked under Voldemort's regime had to be convicted for following the orders, which went for at least half of the Ministry employees, there would be no one working afterwards. They tried Dolores Umbridge and she was sentenced to Azkaban for her crime against Muggle-borns, which, in their opinion, should be a good enough example.

One bad apple didn't spoil Harry's enthusiasm. Right now the Wizarding World was under no intermediate threats. What seemed a lifetime of racing against time to defeat Voldemort was finally behind him: life suddenly was exciting and simulating, a new phase had begun. To become an _Auror_ was what he wanted. It just seemed the right thing to do. He wasn't the type to settle for a job which required pushing quill behind a desk all day long. As ironical as it might seem, fighting against dark forces had its appeal. Besides, there were some death eaters escaped the fate of being caught as the Ministry had troubles identifying Voldemort's full network of associates, but he was confident they would be dealt with sooner or later.

The summer came and went; the first chapter of Harry's new life started with the remnants of the war, inevitable as everyone was still coping with its devastating effects. Harry, Ron and Hermione were awarded First Class, Order of Merlin, for finding and destroying all of Voldemort's horcruxes, subsequently let to the downfall of Voldemort. It had been very embarrassing to attend the ceremony. He couldn't stop thinking this should be given to others, the more justifiable candidates. After all he survived, many didn't.

Arthur Weasley patted his shoulder, told him that the ones died in the war would've wanted them to move on with their lives. Besides there were others whose contribution should be recognised. It would be wrong to deny them appreciation from their community. What would they think if the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself didn't want to be given Order of Merlin for his 'heroic confrontation'? Harry writhed; all those stupid names made him sound like a pathetic, ridiculous puppy. But Mr Weasley had a point; others shouldn't have to feel bad about receiving mental just because he did. Without recourse, he put on his dress robe, mumbled through a speech that Hermione drafted for him.

He insisted to have Snape's portrait hung in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. It was the least what the man deserved. Regardless of his late professor's foul temper and difficult bearing, he was a war hero who sacrificed himself for the victory of the light. Many lives were lost in the First and Second Wizarding War; those lost lives should be remembered. Voldemort wouldn't be defeated without them, who had faith in the light and fought for the greater good. Although Snape had caused great pain in his Hogwarts years, he respected the man for his encourage and selflessness.

Fred's funeral was a terrible ordeal. The fact that it was also a beautiful remembrance didn't make it any more bearable. He hugged Mrs Weasley tightly, who was on the verge of collapsing. After he threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin as the rest of family, watching until it was fully covered. So many lives taken, so much pain, so much grief, all at the hands of Voldemort and his followers. They had won but at what cost? The remainder of days was filled with sadness and heart-aches. All those familiar voices haunted his dreams; their whispering could still be heard. He didn't know how long it would take to stop feeling guilty, but he knew he would always remember them, mourning in some way.

No 12, Grimmauld Place was an awful big place for one person; Mrs Weasley told him that he could stay with them as long as he liked. Harry could tell they were trying very hard to move on despite the hardship of losing someone irreplaceable. It was difficult to confess, to any of them, how he felt: he loved them like family, those people he was so close to for years, if he ever had family, he wanted his family to be like the Weasleys; he could do little to ease their pain and he felt responsible. And then it became clarity that he wasn't one of them - at a time like this, they needed each other. So he decided to give them time to grief together as a family.

The Weasleys were strong, yet the anguish was there. Many times he saw Mrs Weasley turning around to wipe off tears if Fred's name was mentioned. Mr Weasley kept staring at the family clock on the kitchen wall with sad eyes when he thought no one was looking. George put on a happy, brave face, cracked jokes everytime he came home, but then spent more and more time at the shop. The war was over; they were a long way from peace.

And Ginny, sweet Ginny. They would spend hours taking walks down the countryside holding hands, occasionally sharing a few stolen kisses here and there. The kisses were quick, heated, leaving Harry feeling a bit wrong about it since the family was in mourning. But Ginny kept looking at him with her huge, innocent eyes, expressed nothing but admiration. She hadn't been pleased at Harry's decision to move back to the Black House, eventually gave in when Harry promised he would visit often, it was merely a change of place to sleep.

The memory left him feeling warm and giddy. He kept a mental note that he should write to her tonight. Perhaps there was happiness and harmony after all. All of them just needed a bit more time. He had to believe this, like how Hermione braced up before going to Australia to fetch her parents, with a nervous Ron by her side. Harry would've gone as well but Ginny told him that he should give them some time to be alone and they need to deal with this as a couple. He was thrilled when they returned all safe and happy, although it was hard for him to come to terms with his best friends meant more to each other than him to them.

During the summer, owls brought news from Professor McGonagall, informing them that all students were welcome to repeat last year's class. While he and Ron were overwhelmed with anticipation to start training, Hermione made the decision to go back to Hogwarts to finish her education. She wanted to attend the _N. E. W. T._ next year and then apply for a position with the Ministry. Nevertheless time flied, as she put it herself, it wouldn't be long before they reunited.

On the first of September, Hermione and Ginny had to go down to King's Cross to catch Hogwarts Express. Mrs Weasley was busy hugging the girls at the station while she ordered Ron loading the luggage, much to her son's chagrin. Ron made a suffocating face. Harry left out a sympathetic laughter and helped Ron with the luggage. The Platform 9 ¾ was swarming with parents and students. He did his best to ignore the curious, inquisitive gaze, and promised he would send owls to both girls frequently.

As he watched the train departing, a sense of relief came upon him. Sudden awareness hit him like a strike of lighting: Hogwarts was his home since the first year, yet he wouldn't even entertain the idea of returning for one more year. He should have known; it was one thing to keep telling others that he was eager to become an _Auror_. When he was alone, he couldn't run away from his fear - a little secretive voice in his consciousness kept saying that _Auror_ programme was just a façade. Hogwarts held too many memories, still vivid, harsh that he wasn't ready to face yet.

The Ministry was quiet after the work hours; he stepped into the office, was surprised to find lights there, and a blonde head veiled behind piles of parchment. This was awkward. Maybe he could get the present and leave without Malfoy noticing. But as he shifted towards his desk, the sound disturbed the stillness in the room. The other man lifted his head and their gazes met. Harry stopped, stood there in discomfort, not knowing what to do.

Malfoy very much kept to himself those two weeks. Perhaps he thought distancing from the rest of them was his best defence, though his existence alone was creating tension in its own regard. Everyone avoided him, talking to him only when strictly necessary. Ron, who ranted in the private company of Harry and Neville, wasn't exactly _trying_ to hide his displeasure, but he didn't voice it out before this morning. Mrs Weasley visited George yesterday and her observation had put Ron in a fidgeting foul mood. Apparently George had thrashed all the mirrors in the apartment he and Fred shared.

Ron had been understandably upset by that. Harry couldn't blame him for acting out, though it was inappropriate to criticise Kingsley's decision openly. How odd was it all, Malfoy didn't initiate fights and he had to pull Ron away. A former death eater or not, if Kingsley thought it was safe for him to work in the Ministry, Harry saw no reason to object. Though he surreptitiously suspected that Kingsley might have thought that it was best to have the Malfoy heir at where he could see. He once heard a saying somewhere - if you couldn't be rid of the opposition, you should keep them close. Otherwise, he couldn't think of any logical explanation for Kingsley's controversial decision.

Harry noticed Malfoy with a different wand on the first day of training. When he first heard from Mr Weasley, he wondered if he should return Malfoy's wand. In the end, he decided against it before the training begun, because he wasn't sure if Malfoy was going to behave accordingly. He could only speculate that Malfoy found another wand somewhere else. The biggest brat in the Wizarding World seemed harmless nowadays. It was a far cry from their school years, the endlessly spiteful pranks, and insults were gone, at least for now. Harry wouldn't have the faintest idea what prompted the change in behaviour. Then again, it wasn't particularly alarming since many people were different after the war.

The pale face turned to his direction, with a blank expression. Harry took a deep breath before breaking the silence, 'I left something here.'

'Sure,' replied Malfoy flatly, looking away.

Harry took the present from his draw, casting another look over the man who appeared to be busy going through the pages on his desk, then said reluctantly, '…Look, for what it's worth - I am sorry about what Ron said to you earlier. It's been difficult for him, with Fred gone and everything. George isn't coping so well and Ron's worried…'

This was simply extraordinary behaviour now. Draco was astonished, looking at him in dismay; Potter somehow felt the compelling need to tell him the wellbeing of his sidekick - why would he give a rat's ass - whether the weasel and his whole clan are depressed or not, bloody wasn't any of his concern. He just wanted to be left alone.

With such a speed, the memory of Vincent perishing in the blaze came back with, making him shiver helplessly. Agony of despair, heartrending screams out of desperation had been fresh to him as if it happened yesterday. Sometimes he wake up in the middle of the night sweating, his chest burned in unspeakable horror and the fear that never left him since the night in the Room of Requirement.

Instead he bit his lower lip, gave Potter a solemn look and said, 'He isn't the only one who lost someone in the war.'

Harry was stunned for a second, his expression softened without him knowing. Shortly he suggested, 'We are having a drink in the Leaky Cauldron. Would you like to come?'

Draco actually gave it some thought. If he had to be here for the next three years, he might as well try to make and mend the situation. Years of being in Slytherin House taught him to seize upon any chances that could be used for his advantages. Window of opportunities, no matter how small, one day it might come in handy. But he was too exhausted to face the weasel. Today was a long day and he hadn't completed filing yet. 'I have got a bit more to do before I can finish here, Potter,' Draco said finally. 'Maybe next time.'

Potter didn't push him. 'See you on Monday then.'

Draco watched him leaving, shaking his head, and then returned to filing.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Malfoy Townhouse<em>**

As soon as Draco opened his bedroom door, he slumped on the four-poster bed. The house was dark and silent; the portraits of his ancestors looked back at him as he stumbled across the corridor.

The arrangement was to visit his parents at the Manor tomorrow but he wanted to do some research on Magical Combat. He might never get the chance to be in the field, but he would be damned if that scarhead wonder boy and his clumsy friends knew more spells than he did.

Pounding his head against the soft pillow, sheets smelt heavenly, he could have stayed there forever. After five minutes or so, he forced himself to get out of the bed, took out his wand. Pointing at the large, round shaped oil lamp on the ceiling, Draco murmured, '_Lumos _'. At the dawning of light, he found a quill and a parchment lying on the desk, started writing a quick note to his mother,

_Dear mother,_

_The work has been good but I have some reading to do tomorrow. It's important for me to learn as much as possible at the current stage of training. I am afraid I can't stay long but I will be with you for dinner. _

_Please give father my regards._

_Love always,_

_Draco_

While he watched the owl disappearing into the dark night sky with the letter, he thought, I might take a Dreamless Sleep Potion tonight, I am too tired.

* * *

><p>Notes: I've made some change here. Hopefully for the better. Feedback is always appreciated!<p> 


	4. Ch 2 The Battle of Wills 1

**Chapter 2 The Battle of Wills**

**Part 1**

**_Ministry of Magic_**

Draco Malfoy was a young wizard known for many capabilities. For one thing, he was extensively trained in Dark Curses and Spells by his father since a very young age. For another, he possessed exceptional abilities when it came to Potion, whether or not it was due to the attention he got from Professor Snape. On the contrary to common beliefs, he was fairly gifted in Transfiguration, which was the reason he couldn't stop looking at the parchment in his hand in a state of disorientation as if it held the key to the mystery of life and death.

It was delivered to him by a light grey owl at the Townhouse the morning. He found the creature lingering close to his window with a package attached to its legs. Wandering absently towards the window, he just assumed that it was a mail from his office since he didn't recognise the owl. Once the window was open, the owl landed on his desk, making a dull, crack noise. When Draco relived the owl of its post it ruffled its feathers with an air of importance, stretched its wings and took off through the window. A strange owl, not knowing what to expected, he performed several spells to check for the existence of dark magic on the parcel. It was better to safe than sorry. But the check came out empty. He was in a hurry to get to work so he just stacked the package in his bag, along with the food he was bringing and a Potion book he carried with him.

Once he arrived, there were piles of parchment visible on his desk with no exceptions. The curiosity, however unjustified, had been aggravated by the oppressive nature of his given task. By lunchtime, he could hardly contain the desire to know what was in the package. Draco looked around in the office; Robarts was locked in the Head Auror's office which was separated from the main office occupied by the rest of them. From his desk, Draco couldn't see if Robarts was in there, hence he figured it would be unlikely for the Head Auror to see what he was doing respectively. He was by himself again; presumably everyone else had gone out for lunch.

It was a parchment tied to the shape of a scroll with a red ribbon, there was also a note enclosed. He picked up the note and read,

_Draco,_

_I am sending the member's communication form to you. Please write the password on the parchment then everything will become clear. The password for this week is 'Fabulous in Potion'._

_Yours truly,_

_Ayla_

It probably will be alright if I just quickly open this to have a look, he thought as he was unrolling the scroll. It turned out to be a blank parchment, distinctively looked old with yellow smudges at the edge. He looked at the parchment, wondering why that Wethersfield girl sent him this. It was a pleasant conversation they shared in Abracadabra last week nevertheless he didn't analyse too much afterwards since there was enough for him to deal with anyway. The encounter was cut short when Draco had to get back to the office, and the girl told him that she would owl.

It was odd; he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being sought after, notwithstanding the presentation of a spontaneous happenstance. During Hogwarts years, Draco had girls giggling at the sight of him while whispering to each other but Wethersfield didn't seem the sort. Her credentials at school were legit; according to school rumours, she was intelligent, witty yet without any resemblance to a pompous bookworm. Why would a girl like her want to have anything to do with a notorious former death eater? What could she possibly gain from the association?

Oh, what the hell, he was only logging entries of _Auror's_ lunch and tea allowance so that reimbursement could be made at the end of month. In addition to the wages, the Ministry provided lunch and tea on work days to a number of elite departments. Lunch and tea expenses would be accounted for if _Aurors_ were requested to be in the field. Draco simply needed to document the number of field hours from each _Auror_ and work out the amount of Gallons to be paid back. And it was lunchtime anyway.

He made up his mind, grabbing his quill, wrote the line '_Fabulous in Potion_' quickly on the parchment. Then he starred at it, waiting to see what would happen. At once, the ink disappeared. Draco blinked, what was this thing? Astounded, he bended his head lower to study the parchment closely. A few lines rapidly appeared:

_Alya Wethersfield: Trust Marcus to come up with some ridiculous password like 'Fabulous in Potion', so unoriginal._

_Louise Bourgeois: At least it's better than the last one, 'Ambitious Potion Master', how ambiguous!_

_Alya Wethersfield: Don't get me start on that one. Need I point out I am a witch, not a wizard? You'd think picking up a password isn't so difficult._

_Marcus Antoninus: Stop complaining! Do all of you have something to do besides bitching?_

….

If Draco was astonished before, there would be no words to describe how he felt now. In utter disbelief, he watched the letters began to blossom across the parchment in one line after another. As it went on, all the lines disappeared again when it reached nearly the bottom, then reappeared starting from the top as if the parchment knew it ran out of space.

It must be a trap, he thought. He was familiar with dark art all his life and his family possessed a comprehensive collection of dark artefacts, although the artefacts were handed over to the Ministry by his father after the war. He never knew objects could do this. They were often enforced with specific curses, jinxes, hexes meaning to achieve certain set objectives, which mostly was to harm anyone came in contact. However, having a mind of its own wasn't remotely possible.

Communication on the parchment went on. It seemed to be an on-going conversation. Draco watched carefully as Ayla argued with this Marcus Antoninus character about a great many stuff. Everytime when Antoninus concluded on one issue impatiently, she would start going on about something else. And Bourgeois just commented with sarcastic remarks a few times. I could do with a laugh from time to time, he reasoned. Then he picked up his quill, wrote on the empty space, 'Hello', it was the only reasonable thing to do at the time. Draco's name quickly was displayed on the parchment among theirs.

_Draco Malfoy: Hello._

_Ayla Wethersfield: Hello, Draco. I see you figured out how to use the parchment._

So this really was a communication form, an active, alive one at that. Still confused, Draco admitted this was a rather clever device. He wrote on:

_Draco Malfoy: Yes. But it was a shock._

_Alya Wethersfield: Everyone was shocked at the beginning. You see, Marcus here, is quite a genius when it comes to Transfiguration and Charms in addition to his abilities in Potion. He made all the parchments. Probably put on charms to allow authorised access only at long distance, which means that you need the parchment and the password to activate it. And a self-erasing charm when it gets to the bottom, I guess. _

_Draco Malfoy: Impressive work. Really clever._

_Alya Wethersfield: Marcus, don't be mute! Our newest member just showed his appreciation to your work. _

_Marcus Antoninus: Grazie. Sono onorato._

_Louise Bourgeois: So this is the newest member. Alya told us you went to Hogwarts. What are you working on at the moment?_

Draco sighed. He hadn't really worked on anything for quite some time. Life after his father's imprisonment was all a blur; sometimes he looked back, often ended up feeling that he was a ghost who was watching his life in flashbacks. The severity on the account of enormity was almost paralysing, which he found unbearably difficult to make sense of it all. Wondering what to say without sounding incompetent for a few seconds, he then wrote,

_Draco Malfoy: I have been distracted. However I've started reading some text on preparation recently. I do have a few ideas._

_Louise Bourgeois: Certainly. Ideas are always good._

_Alya Wethersfield: Don't mind Louise. He is just competitive. Can't get over himself since he is going to publish an article in Potion Monthly this month._

_Draco Malfoy: Potion Monthly? That's good. I would like to read it once it comes out._

_Louise Bourgeois: Merci._

_Alya Wethersfield: Merlin, we don't need the French man's ego to get any bigger. He is already a pain in ass as it is._

_Louise Bourgeois: One doesn't want to appear boasting but an independent article in the most authoritative journal of Potion in the Wizarding World does count for something…_

_Alya Wethersfield: The fact that it is the only journal of Potion we have just never occurs to you, right?_

_Marcus Antoninus: Merlin helps us all. Enough of petty agruments. I am going back to test samples. You carry on…_

Draco was beside himself with amusement. Suddenly he heard the weasel's voice coming from the hallway outside. Dammit, he silently cursed, and then wrote down on the parchment, '_I've got to get back to work.'_ After that he quickly opened his draw, shoving it in. Just in time to see the three Gryffindors walked in the office.

Harry was listening to Neville telling Ron how he was growing a different specimen of _Chinese Chomping Cabbage _at home to see its effect on _Hair Raising Potion_ when three of them stepped into the office. Only Neville would actually grow different type of cabbage just to use it for _Hair Raising Potion_ of all things. After the war, he supposed that Neville would want to pursue a career in Herbology and was pleasantly surprised to find out that the once round-faced boy decided to serve as an _Auror_ instead. It was good to be around his friends, almost like school years all over again. Not just friends, a foe as well, since you can't have everything in life, Harry turned without an inkling towards Malfoy's directions.

The blonde was at his desk. From he was standing, Harry could see piles of parchments and a half-eaten sandwich at the corner of the desk. Off course Malfoy never got initiations to go out for lunch. On more than one occasion, Harry would come back from lunch to find the blonde by his desk either reading a book or working through the break. The training had started for three weeks and he was in complete isolation. No that he heard Malfoy complaining, as a matter of fact, the blonde had very little to say about anything those days. The topic had changed to Quidditch between Ron and Neville. Harry listened half-heartedly with a smile, eyes still fixed on Malfoy.

'…The Chudley Cannons was simply the best. Galvin Gudgeon dived from at least two hundred feet high to chase the Snitch last game…'

'But, Ron, they still lost…' Neville replied with a mixture of merriment and frustration.

Malfoy had his head down during the entire conversation, reading whatever was on the different scrolls laid in front of him, occasionally dropped down a few of lines on one of them. But Harry saw a small smile surfacing at the mentioning of Chudley Cannons, it was halfway between a simper and a smirk, surprisingly it lightened up his expression.

Draco couldn't help overhearing them. It was a mystery how someone could be attached to the worst team in the British and Irish Quidditch League. Then again one couldn't expect better from a weasel.

Suddenly hair on the back of his head twitched; there was a presence around him. It was curious as if someone was observing him from a distance, not invasive, merely sweeping. When he looked up, he found himself gazing into the glory of resplendent emerald - like the shade of ocean under bright blue sky. So free, flowing yet by no means peaceful, as waving sea water would never cease rushing to the shore of sand. Whether it chose to caress gently or slap forcefully was purely a gift of nature. A bewitching moment, clandestine in nature, could be suggestive to the most logical minds. He saw no reason in his action. Within seconds he relaxed, grinning and embracing the liveliness.

Throughout Hogwarts years, Harry had seen the Slytherin boy grimace, sneer, and smirk, mostly with malicious intentions. Even when he was with his housemates, he presented himself as someone was unaccustomed to share tenderness lightly. Never in his memory, had Harry witnessed Malfoy displaying such a gentle, warm smile. Unable to transcend, their gaze locked for a while. Harry watched the laughter flickering in the grey blue eyes, the pointed face glowing with delight radiantly. At that moment, joy disseminated. Although no words were spoken, Harry found himself beaming.


	5. Ch 2 The Battle of Wills 2

**Chapter 2 The Battle of Wills**

**Part 2**

_Malfoy Townhouse_

The first blaze of winter sun shone through half drawn curtains; Draco woke up to the light that fell on his eyelids. He opened his eyes, gaze still blurry. The fire had extinguished at some point overnight, leaving the air in the room cold and damp. It would be nice if he could stay in bed a bit longer since the weather had become unbearably chilly lately. He was still feeling restless despite that he actually managed to sleep through the night.

Night after night he lay in bed, trying to fall asleep. Silence of the darkness shadowed his room at night; there were random tiny, escaped cracklings by burning flames in the fireplace. Even that didn't agree with him, no matter how hard he had tried, he was falling miserably. The only resort was to lie there, listening to the sound of cutting wind, pounding the bedroom window. It came to a point he finally had enough, so he took a Sleeping Draught last night, which thankfully ensured him a decent night of sleep.

He was anxious towards today's class; the anticipation was reasonable since he hadn't had the chance to use his new wand in a confrontation yet. In the summer, Lucius somehow persuaded Mr Ollivander to sell Draco another wand. When he went to the premise in Diagon Alley, the wand maker appeared to have been disgruntled greatly, made him wonder which method of persuasion was used. As he was waving different wands Mr Ollivander brought out from behind the counter, nothing stood out at the beginning; it was like he was eleven years old again. Wand boxes were flowing in all directions, banging into walls haphazardly, until he took the last one, felt revitalising energy as soon as his fingers touched it.

Once he gave it a wave, gold and silver, glistening light was emitted from the tip of wand. Draco looked at it in awe. A delightful breeziness provoked his insides to squirm, that was a feeling lost in description, it was like he synchronised with the wand in his hand. With eyes wide open, he turned to face Mr Ollivander, who looked equally amazed. After studying Draco closely with long and concentrated contemplation, which made wrinkles on the wand maker's face sink ever deeper, he then muttered, 'Strange, unexpected, very strange.'

After a deliberate pause, he spoke, expressing himself in a manner of cautious determination before he handed Draco the wand box, 'Mr Malfoy, you don't need me to tell you it's the wand chooses the wizard…Regardless of _WHY_ and _HOW_, use it wisely.' Draco was curious, though he knew better than asking questions. Besides, it was very highly the wand maker had no insights why this particular wand chose him anyway.

He walked down the stairs, found breakfast on the dining table. The Dining Room wasn't as big as the one in the Manor but quite sizable all the same. It was decorated with pearl white wall fabric, which was embroidered with silver linings of parsley pattern. On the ceiling, a crystal chandelier was sparkling in reflection of morning light; it was surrounded by deep plum velvet that covered the entire ceiling.

Narcissa sent a house elf from the Manor for general housekeeping and cooking on a daily basis. Draco had no stomach for food right now but he forced himself to take a few bites of toast, and had a pot of yogurt. He then drunk a whole bottle if Invigoration Draught without hesitation. Last night he brewed several bottles for the next a couple of days. Sleepless nights left him feeling more tired than usual; he reckoned that he would need energy today.

* * *

><p><em>Ministry of Magic<em>

'Welcome to your first Magical Combat class. Unlike traditional duelling, you will not get the chance to properly address each other. The aim is to disarm, injure, or kill each other in order to force submission. A battlefield is not a playground.' Robarts said firmly, giving them a small smile.

'Anyway, I trust all of you have fair amount of knowledge already when it comes to combat. For the first class, I propose a short exercise before we begin. Four of you will duel until the last one standing.' He stopped a few second for emphasis. '…Boys, _DISARM_ _ONLY_. If you've been put down, stay down.'

They were in a large, deserted room on the seventh floor. Walls were painted white; they were too white, enough to make one hypnotised. There was no furniture on the wooden floor, or anywhere else in the room for that matter. Four trainees were summoned there by Robarts, along with the other _Aurors_. The Head _Auror_ asked them to form two lines, with Harry and Ron one line, Malfoy and Neville another while _Aurors_ took a step back, standing right next to Robarts. Harry couldn't help but noticing how pale the blonde had become while they were facing each other. Malfoy was fair to begin with, now he looked even paler if it was possible; there was darkness under his eyes but oddly his grey eyes looked brighter, they were almost a shape of silver.

Nobody moved an inch after Robarts's announcement. Dawlish peered from the side, speaking up, 'What are you all waiting for? Here you go, start duelling!'

Harry hissed sharply through his teeth. This wasn't a battlefield. Were they supposed to just draw wands and hit each other with spells for entertainment?

Ron sprinted besides him abruptly; he pointed his wand at Malfoy, crying out: '_Expelliarmus_!' There was a sparking flash of scarlet light. At the end of light, Malfoy was pushed back a long way, smashing into the wall with a loud slump. However, for some unseen reasons, the wand remained in his hand. He quickly placed one hand on the wall, pushing up into a standing position to save himself from falling, and roared, '_Stupefy'_, not to Ron but to Neville, who obviously didn't see this coming. Any attempt he made subsequently to cast a shield charm wasn't faster than the spell that hit him. Neville collapsed to the floor.

Now raging, Ron hurried forward, howled: '_Pertrificus_ _Totalus_!' Malfoy managed to throw himself sideways, and flicked his wand. Supposing it blocked the curse, because within seconds, he raised his wand for another-

It seemed there was no choice at this point, Harry yelled, '_Expelliarmus_.' Malfoy reflected instantly: '_Protego_ _Totalum_', he then screamed at Ron: '_Vinculum_ _Teneatur_.' Thick ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Ron from head to foot. At the same time, Harry casted: '_Impedimenta_.' There was a loud bang, Malfoy was blown backwards off his feet; his back hit the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. A trail of blood smeared a corner of Malfoy's mouth; his wand eventually fell from his right hand.

The room was evidently silent for a moment or two. Harry stood there, with a bizarre feeling it was unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while his attention was engaged otherwise, but they were duelling, for Merlin's sake. Surely he didn't have to apologise for what happened in duelling. '_Finite_ _Incantatem_,' he heard Robarts shouting behind him. The ropes binding Ron now disappeared, Neville got to his feet and Malfoy writhed, standing up slowly.

'Boys,' Robarts waited for them to turn to him, clearing his throat, and started to speak, 'Well done! All of you. Mr Potter, very powerful demonstration of Impediment Jinx…' He looked at Malfoy briefly, as if he was choosing words, 'Mr Malfoy, are you okay? Do you need to be healed?'

Malfoy's voice was a bit shaky, 'I'm fine, Sir.' He straightened his robe, walking up to them. Harry sighed, wishing he could think of something to say so that this awful feeling stuffing his chest would be gone. But this was Malfoy, he distinctly remembered the second year, a similar incident occurred in Duelling Club. Back then Malfoy didn't even hesitate to curse back even while he was on the floor. Oh, dear, hope he isn't too badly hurt. Harry pretended to listen to Robarts, 'In the weeks to come, you will practice either with each other or one of us. The art of Magical Combat cannot be appreciated in theory alone. Now, I hope you have been reading your textbook…'

The rest of day Harry couldn't stop casting glances towards Malfoy's desk. He was relieved to see the blonde moving about in his usual manner. Apart from a pale complexion, the other boy didn't seem to be distressed or in any kind of discomfort. Most likely he is fine, Harry reasoned before he went home for the day.

* * *

><p><em>Malfoy Townhouse<em>

Draco stood in the on-suite bathroom, turning on golden taps that were set upright on the edges of two enormous bath tubs sinking into the floor. The bathroom was softly lit by a candle-filled chandelier, and everything was made of grey marble. He waited for water to fill up both tubs. Every muscle felt aching; even his bones were making noise very much spelt pain. He was in this condition since the class but he was too proud to mention to anyone. It probably wouldn't make any differences if he said anything anyway. Instead he spent the rest of day carrying out desk duties in agony.

After turning off the tap, he pulled off his robe, socks and trousers, took a deep breath before slipping into a tub of icy water on the left. It was early December, and water felt like a thousand sharp pins on his skin. He bit his bottom lip, buried his entire body under water.

The wailing, screeching sound he made was sealed by water, echoing and reverberating off sides of the tub, it almost sounded incomprehensible. Little bubbles flew from his nose to the surface; the only thing felt warm was liquid splashed into water from the corner of his eyes. He wriggled, it's okay, it's just pain, a Malfoy doesn't cry, it's just cold water making my eyes wet. After what seemed an eternity, he sat up right before suffocating.

The water no longer felt freezing, he wiped his face with a wet hand, continued to soak in the tube for a few minutes. Then he rose, getting out of the left tub, stepped into the right tub, which was full of hot water. He stretched his arms and legs, trying to relax a little while clearing his thoughts.

Today's events came back to him like moving pictures even when he rather not thought about it. So the Minister wanted me to be there as Potter and his worthless friends' punch bag. And who serves that purpose better than a trialed death eater? The mark on his forearm was unmistakably visible under twirls of waving water. He stared at it for a second, and turned away his gaze in disgust. In a moment of clarity, he realised something that he never saw as clear before. It didn't matter what the Ministry wanted, he would never let them see a Malfoy quell.

After switching bath tubs a few times, he finally got up, wrapped a white towel that he took from the nearby basin around his waist. He then located a bottle of herb oil in a cupboard, started to massage his injured muscle with it. The oil helped to relax muscle and heal the injuries faster; this was something he picked up from Quidditch practices during school years. Once finished, he walked up to the basin sink, started wiping the mirror above that covered in steam.

A Siren, featured on one of the marble tiles near the sink, seemed awoken from her usual sleeping state. She winked at him flirtatiously, and said in a singing tune, 'Pretty boy, are you hurt? I can see the bruises from here.'

'Call me pretty boy again, I will hex you so bad, you will never be able to sing again.' Draco replied darkly, but couldn't conceal the mockery in his voice.

The Siren winced at his words, 'Fine. There is no need to be nasty, young man…' In which Draco only replied with a smirk.

Much later he was tucked in bed, comfortably dressed in silk pyjamas, reading a Potion book. He was feeling a bit more at ease with everything. Perhaps I can get a good night sleep at last, today was beyond exhaustion. He thought before he dozed off. The massive candle on a set of drawers nearby continued burning. A breeze of air was blown into the room; the candle flamed to its rhythm before dropping down a path of hot tears into the night.

XXX

This is my first story so I would like to hear what you think. Comments and feedbacks are welcome!


	6. Ch 2 The Battle of Wills 3

**Chapter 2 The Battle of Wills**

**Part 3**

**_The Leaky Cauldron_**

It was lunchtime; the Leaky Cauldron was busier than ever. Wizards and witches across the country were keen to celebrate the first Christmas after the final defeat of Voldemort, according to the _Daily_ _Prophet_. Christmas spirit was thick on the ground in Diagon Alley as it was getting closer to Christmas, packed with shoppers all the time. Apparently even the owl order business of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had tripled. Ron had been helping out at the shop on weekends since the end of November. That might be the reason why the dining room was so crowded here, Harry guessed when he was entering with Ron and Neville.

It was Thursday, their usual day of the week to dine out. Although the Ministry provided lunch and tea, three of them ate out once a week as a treat. While they followed Tom to their table, patrons gasped at the sight of them, turning to whisper to each other. Occasionally some of them talked too loud, he overheard some words 'hero', 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' as such. Though having no problems with others to claim fame, Harry never particularly enjoyed attention nor acknowledgment. He found it all a bit too overwhelming, truthfully. When are people going to realise that I just did what I had to do, he rolled his eyes, feeling reasonably resentful.

At last they were seated at a small table in the corner. As soon as they sat down, Harry casted a _Silencing_ _Charm_ so that they could have some privacy. Tom took their orders quickly and hurried away.

'Beef casserole sounds nice. But I fancy streak and kidney pudding today.' Harry announced, wrinkling his nose.

Ron laughed and Neville began to tell them how his grandmother was fussing over Christmas decorations. 'I tell you, if I have to hear one more time that we have to charm a snow scene in case there is no snow around Christmas, I am gonna go mad…'

They chatted light-heartedly while waiting for the food to arrive. Harry was looking forward to Christmas as he always had been. The less than desirable life he had while living under Dursley's roof, almost seemed a lifetime ago, in which memories was long replaced by many happy, cheerful Christmas he had celebrated since the first day of Hogwarts; the memories which he cherished.

Last Christmas they spent searching for clues of Horcrux, hence he was quite determined to make up for all the fun and joy they missed in many years to come. And then the food arrived. Harry felt his month watering; it smelt great and tasted even better.

The conversation was ceased as three of them gobbled down their food. For a while, it was only the sound of knife cutting and chewing could be heard around the table until Ron suddenly spoke up, 'Have you noticed that slim git Malfoy write on some parchment all the time and laugh to himself? I bet he is up to no good.'

Harry wondered what he should say for a few seconds. He did notice that a few times but it never occurred to him as something worth concerning. Malfoy was practically confined to his desk with parchment to work on everyday. If he chose to have a few chuckles every now and then while he was at it, it was probably just because the blonde was bored to his eyeballs with scrollwork.

'Maybe he just read something funny.' Harry offered what sounded a sensible deduction.

'Old habits die hard!' argued Ron. 'I reckon he's messing with dark magic again!'

'I don't know, Ron. Certainly he isn't stupid enough to bring that sort of thing to the Ministry, right? Especially after the war and everything… Didn't your dad say his father turned all their dark artefacts over in August?' Neville said after a minute of silence or two. They all stopped eating at this point.

'This is Malfoy we are talking about. All of them are just two faced bastards. Do you really trust him to stop fondling in Dark Magic?'

'Well, he's been rather quiet. Hasn't turned any tricks so far. Maybe he was just lost in thoughts when he was working.' Harry didn't know why he felt the strong urge to defend Malfoy of all people but he found it difficult to believe that it was fictitious or dangerous, whatever the other boy was up to at work.

'Still… I am not convinced. We need to keep an eye on him. Don't you find it suspicious? Last time he casted the same curse Rowle used in Magical Combat class, didn't he? Some nerve he has, using Dark Magic right in the Ministry…'

'Ron, we don't know if it is the same curse. They didn't sound the same, did they? Perhaps he used a spell we didn't know…'

'I agree with Harry though. He is very much kept to himself. That may be the best for all of us under the circumstance.'

Ron was staring at both of them back and forth incredulously. 'I can't believe two of you. You're not saying that we should forget about everything in the past, go hug Malfoy and befriend him, are you? That bloke caused some much trouble at school, not to mention he was a death eater…'

'I'm suggesting nothing of the sort,' interrupted Harry impatiently. 'I know he was a git and all but the situation is that we're all working together now. It might not be a good idea to randomly speculate that he's into Dark Magic again until it's proven otherwise.'

Neville sighed, 'Why don't we just finish our food? It's getting cold. My pie tastes really good. How are yours?'

Harry answered while Ron continued to murmur what sounded like 'he's gonna get caught'. They ate in relative silence for the rest of meal.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ministry of Magic<strong>_

_The Next Day_

Harry was walking back to the office with Neville after lunch. When they reached the hallway outside, he heard someone arguing loudly, the noises were coming from their office.

'How dare you! I don't answer to you and return my personal belonging this instant…'

'Mr Robarts should see this. You can't get out of this one now, can you?'

Harry's heart sank. Ron excused himself and left the Staff Hall a bit earlier while they were having a conversation with Arnold from Hit Wizard Squad, told them that he had to use the Ministry's owl to deliver a letter. Harry exchanged a confused, shocked look with Neville and both of them rushed down the hallway. Surely Ron didn't come back to office just to spy on Malfoy-

xXx

Once the office was cleared out at lunchtime, Draco wasted no time to take out the parchment from his sack. He found discussing reading material with others who shared his interest highly intriguing. Off course they conversed more than Potion, it appeared that many members also liked to talk about other aspects of their lives. For example Alya often shared with them tales about her shop in Diagon Alley, problems she encountered while setting up, difficulties of hiring staff, while others went on about their daily routines as well. Draco enjoyed reading their comments despite he never really talked about what he did at the Ministry.

Over the last few days, he was engaged in reading and researching with prodigious enthusiasm. A lot of manuscripts he came across were ancient; many concepts were referenced differently to the Potion today. When he initialled questions derived from reading, others were eager to debate, which he found very helpful in understanding some of the ancient text.

Alya further explained to him that the parchment was most likely made with very advanced Protean Charm. Each session began with the password and ended with '_finis'_. Much to Alya's dismay, Antoninus refused to disclose exactly how the parchment was made. Draco, on the other hand, had some vague ideas on the subject but he thought it was best not to elaborate if Antoninus wished discretion.

Alya was every bit of witty and intelligent witch like rumours entailed. She was quick to the point, often displayed a dry sense of humour but mostly on the whimsical side.

Draco was no closer to discover any inkling in why she invited him to join this group. However it no longer mattered to him. At very least, the activities eased his frustration resulted by dealing with uninspiring, humdrum tasks at work. Today he was handling correspondence on behalf of Robarts; it was entirely possible that he was assigned the task due to his excellent quillmanship. When he silently thanked Merlin for small mercy that lunchtime wasn't far away, he could barely contain himself with anticipation.

_Draco Malfoy: I found Elizabeth Corey's early work on Bezoar quite fascinating yet confusing. She claimed that Bezoar could be men made by mixing acid soaked bile, poisonous animal liver, animal brainstem and starch. But the receipt must be incomplete. I had no success in creating Bezoar so far, it needs something to make ingredients work together._

_Alya Wethersfield: I remembered she died in Witch Hunt. Rather unfortunate. Did that contribute to the incomplete state of receipt? Is there any indication that she found the missing ingredients later on?_

_Sabine Appelmans: One moment, I once read somewhere she was a half-blood, who was hunted down by Muggle in 1692 or 1693, I am not sure. I don't recall that she ever found the last ingredients. _

_Draco Malfoy: Whatever it may be, without it, the rest of ingredients simply don't mix together. It is a wonder how she came up with the list in the first place…_

A hand appeared, snatching the parchment sharply right under his quill; the gesture left a long ink mark across as Draco trembled by the forceful lunge. What in Merlin's name just happened? His gaze shoot up, only to meet the weasel's smirk. The bastard was looking at Draco smugly like his Christmas had come early.

'Well, well, well, what do we have here? Who are you talking to on a parchment? Is this one of the infamous Malfoy dark artefacts again?'

Draco jumped up from his chair, filled with anger, 'Why don't you mind your own business? I don't answer to you. Return my personal belonging this instant…'

The bloody weasel was unfazed. He fleered: 'I think Mr Robarts should see this. You can't get out of this one, can you? This is too good. You actually brought a dark artefact to use in the Ministry…'

'You don't know what you're talking about, weasel…'

'What is going on?' A voice demanded behind the Weasel. Draco leapt in shock, realising for the first time they were not alone. Potter and Longbottom were standing by the door. Following them there were Proudfoot and Williamson, possibly others behind them.

'Harry, the git is really messing with Dark Art again. I found him talking to someone on this parchment. I mean, the text just appeared by itself line after line…'

'Give it back. Just because you're so daft that you can't see a Protean Charm starring at your face doesn't mean it's the same for the rest of us. How dare you snoop behind me, snatch my personal belonging? Who gave you the permission to do that?' snapped Draco.

Robarts's office door opened with a bang. The Head Auror walked out, looking obviously displeased. 'Care to explain why you are all shouting here?'

'Sir, I found Malfoy using a Dark Artefact. He is talking to people on a parchment…'

'I've already said just because you don't know what this is doesn't make it dark…'

Robarts walked to the weasel, extending his hand, 'May I?'

Draco was shaking with rage. This nonsense had been going on long enough. The parchment carried on displaying text as the session wasn't finished. After examining it briefly, Robarts turned to him, 'Mr Malfoy, would you mind telling me what this is?'

Bollocks! Draco took a deep breath in attempt to calm down since he knew anger wouldn't be helpful in this situation. 'I am a member of a potion interest group. This parchment is our communication device. I can assure you, Sir, there is nothing dark about it. It is simply the work of advanced Protean Charm and we only discuss our interest there anyway.'

Robarts looked at the parchment again and didn't speak for a few minutes; the man had a thoughtful expression on his face. When he finally spoke, his was careful to avoid any suggestion of impropriety.

'… Malfoy, it may appear to be harmless. But I might have to keep it for spell examination since it raised suspicion. I will return this to you in person once it's established to be safe.'

Good grief. Draco couldn't believe it. He shut his eyes firmly as humiliation ran through his body, just to stop himself from launching on weasel's ugly face. Wait, Alya and the others were still talking on the parchment, 'Can I at least end the session, Sir? I don't think my fellow members would appreciate our discussion to be read by someone outside the group.'

Robarts handed over the parchment, 'Sure, do what you need to do first.'

Draco quickly wrote, '_Finis'_, and then he stormed out the office, not caring that he practically pushed Potter and Williamson to get out. He was fuming. This was his last expedient, what made working here bearable, and that weasel dared to jump out and fuck it all up-

He heard footsteps approaching him in a rapid pace, like someone was running in the hallway. It was getting closer, suddenly his arm was grabbed. What do they want now? Have they not done enough? He turned around, it was Potter.

'What do you want, Potter?' whispered Draco. He was too tired to fight. Couldn't Potter just leave his alone?

Harry stood in front of the blonde, one hand still on Malfoy's arm. It was a bitter confrontation and he felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in his stomach that had everything to do with the pained emotions he just witnessed.

'… Look, don't walk out. If it's not Dark Magic, everything will be fine. I'm sure Robarts wouldn't wrong you.'

His words never sounded so inadequate until this moment, desperately trying to make it better, he added, 'I believe you. It's not Dark Magic.'

This was, however, a surprising turn of event. Draco searched Potter's face in order to determine what the boy wonder himself was playing at. There was no sarcasm or mischief. Potter just looked back at him calmly as if he really meant what he said. 'Why would you believe me?' asked Draco.

'Because I don't think you would bring Dark Artefacts to the Ministry.'

If he wasn't in such a foul mood, Draco would have laughed. He heard Potter continued to say: 'Come back to the office. It will work out.'

Draco was caught off guard; it was a surge of comfort in a place he least expected to find. He finally managed in a low voice, 'Go. I will be back in a few. Just need to clear my head a little.'

'Okay then.' Potter loosened the grip on his arm and looked at him again before he walked away. Draco remained there, watching his old school nemesis until the hallway was empty again. For a split second, he longed for the simply days when all he could think about was to beat Potter and his friends at everything. How easily those days just slipped away, like his misguided youth, lost somewhere in the tunnel of time, with him stuck in the middle, not wanting to look back, dared not to move forward.

xxx

Reviews and feedbacks are welcome!


	7. Ch 3 Dreaming of a White Christmas 1

**Chapter 3 Dreaming of A White Christmas**

**Part 1**

_Sleigh bells ring, are you listening,_

_In the lane, snow is glistening_

_A beautiful sight,_

_We're happy tonight._

_Walking in a winter wonderland._

_Gone away is the bluebird,_

_Here to stay is a new bird_

_He sings a love song,_

_As we go along,_

_Walking in a winter wonderland._

_In the meadow we can build a snowman,_

_Then pretend that he is Parson Brown_

_He'll say: Are you married?_

_We'll say: No man,_

_But you can do the job_

_When you're in town._

_Later on, we'll conspire,_

_As we dream by the fire_

_To face unafraid,_

_The plans that we've made,_

_Walking in a winter wonderland._

_In the meadow we can build a snowman,_

_And pretend that he's a circus clown_

_We'll have lots of fun with mister snowman,_

_Until the other kids knock him down._

_When it snows, ain't it thrilling,_

_Though your nose gets a chilling_

_We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,_

_Walking in a winter wonderland._

- Winter Wonderland

* * *

><p><strong><em>Brompton Road, London<em>**

A bleak, grey sky flung itself onto the ground like a heavy lid; it was looking miserable with dark clouds spreading over. Yet a glint of golden light peeked through curtains of thick cloud, faintly promising that the sun would come out later, however brief it might be. The harsh howling wind did little to extenuate the busy, noisy atmosphere in this part of Muggle London.

There was a norming noise in the background, cars vrooming at both directions of the road, people schmoozing while they moved slowly on the pavement. A band was performing celebration songs somewhere in the proximity. Although they were nowhere to be seen, the sound of clarinet forcefully penetrated the still air, coupled with a salvo of approval from people around. If you had youthful sprite, you would find yourself singing along to the joyful melody.

Harry walked with the crowd, holding Ginny's hand firmly, at which point he turned around to glance over Ron's pale face with not just a little amusement. Today was Saturday, with school holiday started and so close to Christmas, Hermione decided that Christmas shopping was in order. A trip in London Underground had left Ron fidgeting and panting. It must be the moving, concealed carriage that sent Ron into fits, Harry concisely thought before he turned to ask Ginny, 'Are you okay?'

'Yep. How long before we can get there?' She gave him a small, shy smile.

'Can you see the building ahead of us? The one has lots of green canopies. That's where we are going.'

'We should have come out a bit earlier,' said Hermione behind, with annoyance in her tone. 'I didn't expect there were some many people out here. If we didn't spend that much time getting in the tube…'

'That thing was moving under the ground, making lots of horrible noise,' mumbled Ron quickly. 'It really isn't my fault, 'Mione….'

'And you call yourself a wizard.' Hermione lowered her voice so that they couldn't be heard by others.

'It will be alright, Hermione, we still have at least half a day to get everything.' Harry said causally as they all stopped at a set of doors with golden, antique styled frame and matching handles. A door man, who dressed in black tuxedo and wore a high hat, opened the door, greeting them 'Welcome to Harrods'.

Once they were inside, they plodded along a long corridor; Hermione seemed to know her way around. After a minute or two, she led them into one of the rooms.

Instantly Ron and Ginny both inhaled deeply at the sight of an escalator, surrounded by several huge pillars. Each pillar had every inch of its exterior covered in sand coloured marbles; so tall that Harry couldn't see the other end. Figures engraved on the surface of the pillars wore light, airy fabric and what looked like wigs with ornament on their heads. The engraving resembled paintings, which Harry had seen briefly once in a documentary about Ancient Egypt on the telly, but he couldn't be sure since Dudley just snorted and changed the channel.

There were bright lights everywhere, glaring down on the marbles; it all looked shining and golden. Apparently Ron had lost his ability to speak, as an alternative way to state his feelings he pointed a finger at the escalator with eyes as big as saucepan. Ginny writhed nervously, 'What is this?' Her voice was low, barely audible.

'Relax. It's an escalator. It's perfectly safe. They're just moving stairs… And Ron, stop pointing. People are starring now.' Hermione explained hastily.

'Sorry, I am just a bit shocked,' said Ron, lowering his hand.

Harry grinned, 'Mate, you might wanna chill out. I have a feeling there will be a few more shocks on the way today.'

'This is nothing. Wait until you get to the top. I read from a travel brochure that there is an image of night sky on the ceiling, with Zodiacal figures and the constellation in Orion. Did you know those were adopted by the Ancient Egyptians to use as a template for the overall plan at Giza?' said Hermione excitedly, although she didn't expect answers from them.

'Now get a move on, would you? We have plenty of shopping to do. Harry, why don't you take Ron to the Men's department while Ginny and I shop for clothes and make up? Let's see which floors they are on…'

Harry followed Hermione to a long plastic board with store directory on it. While Hermione was checking for information, he pulled a handful of Muggle notes from his pocket and handed to her. 'Just use those to pay for everything Ginny want to get.' She gave him an amused expression before accepting the notes.

* * *

><p><strong><em>The Archduke Restaurant and Wine Bar<em>**

'We would like to have roast lamb chops with onion and rosemary sauce, Chilli con carne with rice, steak sandwich with salad, and Chump Chops With Blackcurrant Sauce.' The waitress wearing a black apron was writing rapidly on a little note pad as Harry ordered from the Menu, then she asked them, 'What would you like to drink?'

They were in a restaurant carved from under the railway arches by Waterloo Station. At the front, vast windows displayed a view of brick wall and tall exposed trees, visible from where they were seated. The darkness outside turned the place into a glowing light ball in comparison. Soft Jazzy music was played; it was a nice little restaurant, quite cosy despite the oddly plain furniture. The tables were too square; black leather chairs had no armrest and were mostly made from steel. He had to be careful not to move about too much in the chair because it made noise whenever it was dragged against wooden floor.

'I will have orange juice,' replied Hermione immediately.

After a quick study of the drink Menu, Ginny said, 'I will have apple juice then.'

Followed by Ron saying, 'Harry, I will have whatever you're having.'

Harry told the waitress: 'Two cokes, then.' She gave Harry a nod and went away after collecting their Menu.

Opposite to him, Ron let out a half yawn. It had been an exhilarating day for him. After hours in the department store, they took a bus, yes, a double decker bus to 'London Eye', where the giant windmill with lots of booth was. Hermione said they should definitely go there because the sight was amazing. Muggle bus moved terribly slow and stopped at a constant rate. Harry was half expecting Ron to complain about it but his friend didn't mind at all since he was too busy peeping outside the window.

When they finally got in the booth, the windmill started rolling. They leaned on the transparent glass, gawking in awe as the booth was moving further and further away from the ground; the building became smaller and smaller, people looked like tiny black dots on a map. It was just getting dark; on both sides of the Thames, the lights were coming on. Hermione was correct as always; the sight was fantastic, there was no other word for it. Once Ron and Ginny recovered from the initial shock, they were only too busy asking questions about why such a big windmill could rotate. While Hermione proceeded to explain all sort of things about electricity and Ferris wheel, Harry couldn't stop smiling.

'So, did you enjoy yourself?' asked Harry, resting his arms on the table.

Ginny gave him a sweet, bright smile, nodding cheerfully.

'How Muggle get by without Magic and invent all those things I have no idea, but I surely had fun today!' exclaimed Ron, waving his hand uncontrollably. 'Mate, what was that road called again? You know, where they had lots of cars on display.'

Harry cracked up to the memory in which Ron jumped out his seat and screamed once he spotted a showroom with French windows, exhibiting plenty of magnificent, pristine cars. Several heads were turned on the top decker. Fortunately, most of them were sightseeing as well, judging from the cameras hanging around their neck. Once they realised what caused Ron to screech, they just smiled at them with good humour and lurked away. The other Londoners were probably used to eccentricity thus took little notice. Ron was in better control when the second showroom appeared in their view; massive silver letters welded at the front illustrated 'Austin Martin'. Then the third, the fourth, he just sat there with his jaw dropped to his knees.

'It is Park Lane, I think,' said Hermione, half-stern, half-amused, clearly was reminded the same scene. 'What did you get today?'

'Just some presents. I see you girls have done well.' Harry looked under the table, where there were numerous green plastic bags with 'Harrods' printed on.

'We had to each get a dress and accessories considering we are going with you and Ron to the Ministry Christmas Party,' said Ginny. 'I am so excited but a bit nervous. I've never been to anything so formal.'

'You will be fine. We will be at a table with everyone from the office anyway. That means you know most of them.'

'Would they bring guests as well?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, everyone is. After dinner, there will be dance.' Harry answered sulkily, wasn't happy about that part at all. Ginny giggled at his outward displeasure.

'Speaking of which…I wonder who is going with Malfoy. Who is gonna want to anyway?' said Ron, scowling as the freckles dusted across his nose danced.

'I'm sure he is gonna find someone to go with.'

'Who would want to go with him? A git, a death eater, anyone in their right mind wouldn't…'

'Just leave the bloke alone, would you?' Harry admitted an exasperated sigh. 'We talked about this. Whatever he was, it's in the past. We're working together now. We don't have to be his friend but it wouldn't hurt to show a bit of professional courtesy.'

'Why are you defending him? He is a sneaky bastard. The whole business with that parchment of his…'

'And look at how well that turned out. I know you meant well, Ron. But accusing your colleague using Dark Artefact at work without proof doesn't fly.'

Harry was getting aggravated by the minute. Ron is a dear friend, but Merlin, he is stubborn. The parchment, in the end, was confirmed to be free of Dark Magic. Frustration and disappointment welled up inside him: this wasn't the first time they had been down this path. After all it was the intention made all the difference; a curse without proper, precise intent would only be temperamental at best. Dumbledore's voice echoed in his head,

'…_You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!_'

He might not know if Malfoy had truthfully changed. When Dumbledore was at the crossroad of decisions, he gave Snape a second chance without contingent guarantees. Do we really know what others are capable of? How do we know if we're not willing to let them try? In that respect perhaps Malfoy deserved another chance too. Harry finally heard himself saying, 'Who is to say that people with questionable past can't have their ways amended? What is important is the choice we make now. I thought you'd know that.'

Ron pursed his lips into a thin line, but didn't argue any more. Across the table, his sister was looking at them anxiously, hesitating to ask as the waitress had approached their table with food.

As soon as she was out of the way, Hermione got right onto the topic without delay, 'Ron, what is happening? Why didn't you mention any of this in your letters?'

Ron was shifting in his seat uncomfortably. 'Oh well, you know that….'

* * *

><p><em><strong>Oxford Street, London<strong>_

Ginny and Hermione were dancing and dumping excitedly next to a road lamp; it had miniature bulbs enwinding its pole in circles. Above Harry there was a banner across the street horizontally that was made from hundreds of little bulbs, with a myriad of stars flashing 'Happy Christmas' at the centre. The entire street was glowing luminously in the same scheme; lamps and banners lightened up the darkness, gleaming every a few feet.

Hermione sprang into a state of full blown rage after Ron gave a brief elucidation of the business about Malfoy's _parchment_ with certain level of reluctance. Even Ginny was eyeing her brother disapprovingly. At last he tentatively agreed that he would stay out of Malfoy's way unless immediate attention was required.

So it was all worth it. This was what he was fighting for, what they had fought for. Surrounded by his friends and Ginny, the happiness was so near that he could almost savour it. On the road of where he was and where he wanted to be, he felt that he had come a long way and was now much closer to the kind of life he always desired, which filled with joy and bliss, wasn't so far away after all.

Ginny was beaming at a fluorescing presentation of yellow deer with red nose and green antlers, then she run towards him, a little out of breath, throwing herself at him. He laughed loudly, somehow managed putting his arms around her, not a small task given how much bags he was carrying. On his left, Hermione was embracing Ron, who looked a little surprised but elated nevertheless. Harry could see the foolishly happy grin on his friend's face. It's going to be a great Christmas, he concluded as he pressed his lips on Ginny's soft cheek.

Notes: Hi, everyone. I just want to say that the next chapter is really. However, I discovered an error in it sometime ago which I don't have time to fix it right now. I will be available again from 15th and the new chapters will be uploaded then. And I have a few more chapters already written. After that I guess I just have to write as quickly as possible. Haha!

Meanwhile, please kindly leave feedbacks! I need to know what you guys think. Thank you!


	8. Ch 3 Dreaming of a White Christmas 2

**Chapter 3 Dreaming of A White Christmas**

**Part 2**

**_Diagon Alley_**

Draco gasped; his could not help it. The establishment in front of him was oddly unfamiliar, certainly not what he had in mind. When Alya invited him to visit her shop, 'come down have a look', that was how she phrased it. He naturally assumed that the interior would resemble Slug & Jiggers Apothecary to some extent; packed full of goods, with barrels on the floor, jars containing all kind of unrecognisable stuff along the wall, and bunches of feathers, fangs, and claws hanging from the ceiling without a care in arrangement.

Not that she gave the impression of being dreadfully untidy. It was just that everybody shopped at Slug & Jiggers, hence presumably that was how potion stores would look like. As a matter of fact, most shops in Diagon Alley were crammed with commodities all around its occupying space. Of course there was Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, then again that wouldn't be somewhere Draco fancied dropping by altogether. Being genuinely surprised, he decided, would be quite an understatement under the circumstance.

It was a respectably sized two story facility right next to Twilfitt and Tatting's. The ground floor was all covered in framed glass at the front; onlookers would get a clear view without entering. At eye level, he could see that it was spacious, considerably longer than its width, with identical shelves on both sides of wall. The frame matched the door and shelves in colour, made from black brown oak by the looks of it. Jars and bottles were neatly placed on the shelves, even spaced, to be exact. There was a counter at the far end; a witch had her head down writing behind it, and circular staircases with black railings beside the counter.

When he peered up, there was a signboard displayed golden Italic letters, 'Wethersfield Presents'. The wall beyond was painted in white with the exception of two large oak framed windows. The most peculiar thing, however, was the board underneath the door number. It read:

_If you believe beauty is in the eyes of beholder, you think wrong._

_Beauty is a craft, requires attention, caring, and commitment. _

_At 'Wethersfield Presents', we offer a full range of plant-based hair care, skin care, makeup, perfume and lifestyle potions. _

_Anything one would need in which we live, enhancing harmony in the way we live can be found here._

_So wizards and witches, embrace yourselves with the Profound Art of Pure Flower and Plant Essences._

Oh, let's get it over with. He took a deep breath before he pushed the door. A bell rang, the witch behind the counter looked up. She was the picture of makeup transcending ordinary beauty when it was applied properly; by no means pretty, yet of a pleasant appearance. Her manners were courteous and efficient. After flashing a polite smile, she stepped out of the counter and greeted him, 'Good morning, Sir. Can I be assisting in anyway?'

'I am here to see Miss Wethersfield. Is she in the facility?' asked Draco.

'She is. May I inquire who wishes to see her?'

'Inform her Draco Malfoy is here to see her.'

'Certainly.' The girl gave him a nod of acknowledgement and then hurried onto the stairs.

There was another witch who wore a black pointed hat standing by the shelves, supposedly a customer. She winced at the sound of Draco's name, and immediately focused her attention on the bottle in her hand, perhaps a little bit too much attention. Tough, Draco sneered, as if I gave a damn what she thought of me.

It was delightfully warm in here; soft tunes were played. Draco removed his gloves and scarf while his gaze wandered. In the middle, a few dark brown tall baskets were placed on the same colour wooden floor, with lots of little pots in them. Each basket has a sign stuck to it, the first one read: '_Today's special: Avocado, Honey, and Yogurt Facial Mask. Mixed with a Lasting Draught to ensure freshness. Free of preservatives. Please use with confidence_.'

On the left shelves, there were jars and jars with little square label stacked in categories. The same arrangement was applied to the shelves on his right, except there were bottles. He took one bottle and studied the label in scrutiny: '_Vitamix Potion: an energising potion. When drunk, the one feels an amazing burst of energy. Ingredients: Wormwood, Asphodel Root and Monkshood._' At the bottom of the label, it was written by hand '_Wethersfield Presents_'.

As he was putting the bottle back to the shelf, he heard steps on the staircase. The girl reappeared, 'Miss Wethersfield is expecting you upstairs, Sir.' Draco walked pass her, ignoring the witch with the hat, who just let out an obvious sign of relief. She can let go of that bottle now, he thought darkly. He was climbing up the stairs when the shop girl said loudly, 'The first room on the left, Sir.'

Upstairs the decor was slightly more subdued. He found himself facing a long corridor with a few white doors, on the floor there was light copper textured carpet. Strange choice of colours, he knocked at the first door on the left. A female voice called out: 'come in.'

He opened the door, stepping into a reasonably sized sitting room. One side of walls was covered in books, most of them bound in black or brown leather but a few in what looked like all kind of colourful, reflective paper sticking out. There was a brown leather sofa with a massive red bag on it. A cream leather lounge chair, which Draco hadn't a clue if it could be called that since the outer leather was nailed inwards all over; it only took after lounge chair in shape. A wooden table rested in front of the sofa except it was very low. The room had an air of unconventionality: it must be the Muggle influence, Draco reasoned, deliberately restraining himself from snorting.

Alya was standing by a stove against the wall on the right, Draco blinked, what was a stove doing in the sitting room? She was wearing a textile woven dress with multi-colour strips. 'Draco, I'm so glad you came,' said Alya excitedly, coming to a half in front of him and gave him a quick hug.

As she drew near, Draco smelt a scent of light, delicate fragrance, which was feminine, elegant, without the nasty powdery sweetness. Then she turned to the stove, 'I was about to have coffee. Would you like some as well?'

'Sure.' It was only now Draco noticed a pot on the stove, which had possibly a spoon stirring whatever was inside by itself in a rapid pace, with white steam coming out. There was a flask looking thing on the wooden surface of the cupboard, presumably the brown liquid was coffee.

'How do you take your coffee?'

'Milk and two sugars usually.'

She made the beverage accordingly, adding a good measure of white frothy milk. After placing two rather plain saucers with matching cups onto a dark wooden tray, she beckoned with a shake of her head, 'Let's sit down.'

Draco had no choice but to settle on the sofa since she put the tray on the low table and sat in the lounge chair beside the sofa. Handing him a saucer with the filled cup on it, the corner of her mouth curled, 'You must excuse my choice of china. I only keep the basic stuff in the shop.'

'I went to boarding school for seven years, so did you, speaking of having to put up with a lack of standards,' said Draco, seemly amused. 'Besides, I adore its… simplicity.'

The coffee tasted bitter, milky, textured with sweetness: the two opposite favours didn't blend together. Not in the sense that one could be separated from the other, but rather like two layers. When the liquid reached the back of his throat, the oddest thing happened. It was as if its aroma, richness, body, fragrance all kicked in at the same time. Even the acidity left verve, for the lack of a better word, on his tongue. He felt like he was instantly refreshed after a long day.

'… Excellent coffee, I must say,' complimented Draco.

'Thank you,' said Alya with gladness, picking up the red bag besides Draco. The size was quite enormous for a hand bag and it looked like it was made from calf leather. Draco caught a glimpse of a tiny gold lock and at the triangle tip of the lanyard it was printed 'Hermès, Paris Made in France'.

'Sweets?' Alya opened the bag, taking out all kind of confectionary.

In no time Draco was staring at a table full of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, Fizzy Wizzy and every other sweet anyone could think of. 'Do you have an entire sweet shop in there?' asked Draco in disbelief.

'I was hoping for a sugar high.'

'Did you put an extension charm on it? It's a big bag but still…'

'… Oh yeah, the bag was a gift from my grandmother. I made a little alteration.' Alya shrugged her shoulder as Draco picked up a piece of chocolate. 'So how are you?'

'I've been Okay. It is a nice establishment you have here. How is business?'

'Quite busy lately. We usually get really packed in the afternoon. It must be the Christmas. People are dying for a last minute present. I have to have someone on the roof dealing with owl orders all the time now.'

'Isn't that a good thing if it's busy?' asked Draco curiously.

'I don't deal with the selling, talking to customer part. I hired people to do that so I get time to work on other stuff. That leaves me with managing accounts, sourcing ingredients and overseeing production process. It's not too bad, but I could do with more staff.' She paused, regarding him apologetically. 'Am I boring you?'

'Not at all. It's fascinating.' Draco tried to give her a reassuring smile. 'But I must tell you, it isn't what I expected. I thought it was something like Slug & Jiggers. And I had no idea you were into Herbology.'

'I inherited a little cottage in Dorset when my mother passed away. It comes with an herb garden. At the beginning, I just thought it was a good idea for a potioneer to plant ingredients since the plantation process could enable me to gather knowledge of their properties. Then the realisation came once it was clear that there was only so much I could grew in the garden. But I still planted as a hobby. It sort of helped me to come up with new ideas for commodities.'

Draco was never fond of Herbology; he figured that class was an unnecessary naissance especially since Longbottom was a star pupil. After the five years of compulsory schedule, he only took the class at the sixth year due to the lack of alternatives. However Alya explicated the concept in a way he never gave too much thought.

'My condolences about your mother,' muttered he, after a struggle of words, feeling awkward all of sudden.

'It happened long time ago.' Alya said quietly, changing the topic, 'So how is your work?'

'The same, boring, dragging…Actually it reminds to ask you if you're free on the twenty third, in the evening.'

She raised an eyebrow, 'I think so. What's the occasion?'

Draco was at a loss how to approach the subject so he thought it was probably best if he just spitted it all out. 'There's going to be a Ministry function that night…the Christmas party…I was wondering if you would like to accompany me as my guest.'

'You mean as your date,' bantered Alya, a triumphant smile fluttering across her pretty features. 'Sure, why not? As a favour for a friend.'

That was one way to put it, Draco felt heat raising to his cheek, well, it could have been a lot worse. He finished lamely, 'Thank you. I would appreciate that.'

'So what is the plan for that evening?'

'I was told there would be dinner and dance.' Draco was fighting off the urge to rub his nose; what he often caught himself doing in frustration. Work gatherings could be inconceivably tiresome when you were a former death eater who worked for the Ministry. However, discharging from an appearance wasn't an option.

Alya gave him a teasing look. 'Can I trust you not to crush my toes?'

'Not likely. At least that hasn't happened after the age of six.' Merlin, this girl was being terribly cheeky.

She laughed and leaned back in the chair. 'Is there a dress code?'

'Formal.' Once that was sorted, Draco was feeling a lot more comfortable. He shifted a little to relax on the sofa, and then asked, 'I do have a question.'

Alya took another sip of coffee, letting out an 'eng' sound in response.

'How do you make a lasting draught without preservatives?'

'Draco, are you asking me to disclose my recipe?' She said with an undertone of amusement.

'My curiosity got better of me.' He flicked his eyelashes innocently.

She smirked. 'Nice try. Not succeeding but would you like a tour in my lab?'

'You have a lab on the premise?' Now the day had begun to lighten up.

* * *

><p>Notes: Sorry about the late update. I got caught up with many other things lately. The chapter is up. Again feedback would be appreciated!<p> 


	9. Ch 3 Dreaming of a White Christmas 3

**Chapter 3 Dreaming of A White Christmas**

**Part 3**

**_Malfoy Manor_**

It was common knowledge that one should keep the conversation at dinner time to a minimum, well, at least common to the Malfoys. Dinner at the Manor was usually a quiet affair; after all, a meal was for the consumption of food and it was bad etiquette to talk while one's mouth was full.

Tonight the pattern was broken; Draco was silently cutting into a plate of _Foie gras_ with mustard seeds and green onions in duck _jus_ while his parents took turns to watch him with conflicting expressions written over their faces. Undoubtedly they wanted to say something but restrained themselves so far since they didn't talk while eating. As the dishes disappeared after the main course, he sensed that there would be a spoken exchange of thoughts before the desert.

It was Lucius, who first made an effort after clearing his throat, 'My source informed me that there would be a Christmas party at the Ministry. I trust you will be attending?'

So it was about the party. 'Yes, father,' answered Draco, wondering what seemed to be the problem.

'And you will be bringing a witch along?'

'Yes, everyone is bringing a guest.' Draco was getting more and more confused by the minute. This wasn't his first ball; his parents never bothered to query who he took to the Yule Ball at the fourth year. Why the sudden interest now?

'Do we know the young witch you are bringing?' Lucius made another attempt after a minute or two.

'Oh, her name is Alya Wethersfield. She kindly agreed to accompany me.' There was an unmistakable stiffness in the air. His parents exchanged searching gazes, looking for recognition of the name.

'Wethersfield, you say? Any relation to that shop 'Wethersfield presents' in Diagon Alley? Cecilia and I stopped by there the other day. Very interesting establishment, uniquely styled, I must say.' Narcissa spoke for the first time, eyeing her son with rather too much curiosity.

Draco wanted to rub his nose again; he wasn't sure if he liked where the conversation was leading to but Alya seemed the only suitable candidate at the time. 'It's my understanding that she owns the facility.'

Narcissa looked baffled, 'Oh, how things have changed. At my time young witches didn't go around owning shops...'

Lucius, on the other side of the dining table, raised an eyebrow and Draco instantly knew what his father was thinking. The Malfoy heir didn't associate with people in trade. He was a Malfoy and a Slytherin. He knew how to word a situation to present it in favour of his parents.

'Actually she is a fellow member of this Potion group I've told you before. I believe the shop is only a diversion from her research.'

The older Malfoy, however, wasn't fooled by his son's obvious tactic to alleviate. He continued to question Draco indifferently, 'Wethersfield is an unfamiliar surname. Did this young lady in question attend Hogwarts?'

'Yes. Three years my senior.'

'I assume she wasn't a Slytherin?'

'Ravenclaw. In fact, I heard she was very intellectually advanced. Professor Snape spoke highly of her on several occasions when I was at school.' Draco said firmly, starring into the other pair of grey eyes.

Narcissa squirmed at the mentioning of Snape, her face paled. If his father was anyhow affected, Lucius didn't share the sentiment with his family. His face remained expressionless.

'Is she a pureblood?' demanded Lucius in an icy tone, now holding a crystal glass up to take a sip of Elderflower Wine. The dining room was so quiet; he could almost hear the sound of wine slipping down his father's throat.

'A half-blood. Though I don't know who her parents were.' Draco definitely didn't like where the conversation was headed. It was awkward enough having to discuss the choice of a 'date' with one's parents, not to mention his father was displaying indisputable disapproval of the choice.

Lucius, as expected, didn't appear pleased at all with the knowledge he just acquired. But Narcissa shot her husband a warning look.

'Well, I guess that is better than a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor, so to speak,' said his father finally.

With a 'pop', three plates appeared in front of them, each contained a slice _of Bûche de Noël._ The conversation was adjourned; Draco felt that he hadn't been this happy to see French chocolate cake since he was a young boy.

* * *

><p>Shortly afterwards he was having tea with Narcissa in Salon while his father retired to the study. The flame was dancing joyfully in the fireplace and the room was cosily warm. His mother smiled lovingly before speaking, 'My dear boy, I hope you don't think your father is being too hard on you. He didn't mean to affright you. We were just so worried ever since the Parkinsons fled the country after the war…'<p>

Draco boomed; there was never promise made between him and Pansy. Her attention was flattering, which he enjoyed a great deal at some point in the past. Nevertheless, he wasn't particularly upset when the family took off before the summer ended. There was a lot on his mind back then, very few concerned Pansy.

'I had no idea you were concerned. I mean, Pansy and I were not seriously involved…'

'Still, no girl denies my son! How dare them, left for continent without bidding farewell…' Narcissa was quickly working herself up towards an exploding wrath.

'Mum', Draco called Narcissa 'Mum' rarely, only at times when he was trying to comfort her.

He took her hand, 'It really is Okay. It was just childish folly. I can't ask Pansy to hold her life back because of me.'

After taking a deep breath, Narcissa regained her usual poise. She briefly squeezed his hand, 'You can do so much better than that ghastly Parkinson girl anyway. So tell me about Miss Wethersfield. Is she good looking?'

Glad his mother had calmed down. Draco smiled and replied, 'Very. But I am mostly impressed with her sentient.'

'Do you think there is possibility for a romantic inclination?' asked Narcissa hopefully.

'Mother, I am only eighteen.' Draco cried out, couldn't conceal the annoyance in his voice. The concept of marriage and settling down seemed unthinkably far away from where he was standing. Surely his mother understood that wasn't on his agenda in the foreseeable future.

'I met your father when I was eleven. I knew he was what I wanted ever since I laid eyes on him. Although it took me years to get him to notice me…'

Draco felt dizzy. He preferred not to learn his parents' courtship in details. Desperately determined to end the current catastrophe as his mother' voice tailed away, he said hurriedly, 'We're friends. I enjoy her company but nothing more, at least for now. We will see.'

His mother stroked his face with the back of her hand, said gently, 'I just want you to be happy. You and your father mean the whole world to me.' Outright demonstration of affection wasn't one of Malfoy's traits. He wanted to respond to his mother, but was at a loss of words. Instead he mumbled, 'I know. I know.'

* * *

><p><strong><em>Ministry of Magic<em>**

_23__rd__, December, 1998_

Draco was pacing impatiently at the Ministry's Apparition Point. It was a narrow yard, normally very poorly lit on countless occasions when he left work late. Tonight even the Staff Apparition Point was transformed; bright light everywhere, the lone tree covered in stripes of golden fabric. It is delightful to know the Ministry likes to keep up the appearance too, he hissed under his breath.

The dinner was starting at seven o'clock and it was ten to now. Alya was nowhere to be found. He quickly contemplated how bad it would seem if he just turned up alone. All he needed to do was to get through tonight, however tiresome it might be, then he would have five days off straight. After casting a last glance in the surrounding, Draco turned on his heels, heading to the main building.

With a little crack, Alya called out behind him, 'Draco, I'm so sorry I'm late. I hope you haven't been waiting for too long. It took me a long time to wrap up today and I didn't know what to wear…'

About bloody time, Draco cursed silently, feeling relived. Once he turned around, all the glitters in the yard suddenly was fading away. A few feet away, there was Alya, wearing a long ivory dress, with a sparking belt made from tiny stones; its diamond shape at the front emphasised how small her waist was. Grey eyes lingered along the petite waist to the long puff sleeve and the frills around her neck, not without admiration. On top of the dress, she wore a little fur shawls with black and brown guard hair interlaced, which revealed an exquisite, fragilely fair neck. Her once straight hair now was arranged into lavish curls, bouncing and shiny, falling on her back.

'It's okay, you're here now,' said Draco hastily, extending his arm.

Glimmering tear drop diamonds swung freely below her ears as Alya walked up to him, clutching onto his arm. He could smell the feminine, delicate scent again. She smiled at him. Draco felt a surge of masculine pride fastening his heart beats.

'You look … amazing.' He heard himself muttering.

She laughed, with a shrug of her long dark locks, shifting the silver leather handbag on her shoulder to the other hand, 'You don't look so bad yourself, handsome.'

He might've blushed. After a second or two, he grinned, 'Shall we?'

* * *

><p>The Staff Hall was packed with Ministry employees and their guests, all milling around greeting each other. Harry looked at the grandiose embellishment; clearly immense amount of attention to details had been put into organising the party. Long, wooden benches exhibited normally had been replaced with round, large tables, which were covered under red table clothes. Plain, bare walls now shone with an overlay of gold and silver sheen. Hundreds of garlands of mistletoe covered across the ceiling. Numerous massive chandeliers holding long white candles lit up the entire Hall.<p>

At the top of the Hall, there were several large, empty tables on a red carpet, probably reserved for the high ranking officials. Even the windows were bewitched to resemble the dark night sky with stars; during the day they just appeared bright white, to mirror daylights.

Harry checked his watch. It was almost five to seven. People had started making their way back to their seats. Beside him, Ginny looked very pretty in a mint dress, with her thick red hair tided back into a curled bun. She fidgeted a little, looking uncomfortable as she stared at her exposed, creamy shoulder, which in Harry's opinion she looked marvellous. Then she lifted her head to give him a happy smile.

Hermione was looking as pretty as Ginny in a lilac dress. Ron was wearing black dress robes like most men at the party. Harry, on the other hand, was wearing dress robes in a shade of dark green. He wasn't sure about the colour but Ginny assured him that he looked positively dashing in dark green. To his surprise, Neville brought Luna, still had all that straggly, dirty blonde hair, was now staring at all the decorations in a dreamy expression. Harry almost felt like laughing; you can take the girl out of Hogwarts, but she still looks equally distracted.

Everyone from _Auror_ office was there already, except Malfoy, who wasn't at present. They all finished early today to get ready for the party. He ran into the blonde at the Apparition Point when he was there to finch Hermione and Ginny. There were so many people in the yard at the time thus he didn't notice if Malfoy had found his date. The party was just about to start and Malfoy was still no show. He turned around to give Ron a troubled look. The redhead was thinking along a similar line because he smirked and said smugly, 'It looks like Malfoy has decided not to show up after all…'

Harry frowned; luckily others were caught up in their conversation and didn't seem to hear what Ron had said. Hermione rolled her eyes, scouting sharply, 'Stop it, Ron, seriously!'

There was the sound of a door opening from far away. At the beginning Harry didn't pay attention but the chatter around them was dying down quickly. He turned in confusion, surprised to find that many heads were turning towards the same direction. Fast approaching their table, there was Malfoy, dressed in a woollen cloak of dark grey, with a stunningly beautiful witch attached to his arm.

* * *

><p>Notes: Just in case you're wondering, the party scenes will end in the next chapter and the focus will be on Draco and Harry more and more. Whatever might be going on between Alya and Draco isn't exactly love interest. Hopefully it will all become clear in the next chapter. Feedback will be appreciated as always!<p> 


	10. Ch 3 Dreaming of a White Christmas 4

**Chapter 3 Dreaming of A White Christmas**

**Part 4**

**_Ministry of Magic_**

Draco listened half-heartedly as Alya described her day in an amiable tone, and the other's hushed voices were giving him an odd feeling of prognosticating; it was as though he could hear them without saying, what in Merlin's name was that girl doing with a former death eater. No sooner they had reached the table which was occupied by people from his office. Ignoring the curious, prying gaze all around, he pulled out a chair, one of the only two unoccupied at the table, and whispered to Alya, 'Allow me.'

She smiled at everyone at the table apologetically before settling down, 'Are we late? I am so sorry. This is entirely my fault. Got caught up earlier.'

Their table was now the centre of attention; if the no-so-discreet staring was any indication, people were peering relentlessly from all directions of the Hall. Malfoy looked very inch the pureblood elite; when he removed his cloak, revealing dress robes of dark grey velvet, the collar of white dress shirt and black silk neck cloth tied in a rather complex knot. Short white blonde hair was shining under the candle light. He sat down, and made introductions while ignoring all the scrutiny.

Hermione was the first to break the silence, 'Wethersfield? Any connection to the Brighton Wethersfields?'

'Yes,' said the girl who braved the Ministry Party with Malfoy, with a polite smile on her face. 'I am one of the Brighton Wethersfields.'

'Are you really? I rather like those fantastic products from 'Hush' and 'C'est elle'.' Hermione said excitedly, leaving the rest of them in bemusement. She noticed that, and quickly explained, 'Those are very famous Muggle skincare and cosmetic brands, like internationally famous.'

Malfoy's date chuckled, 'Actually. None of family member is in management now. All we do is receive dividends from preference shares… so I'm not sure if we can be credited for the products - and we don't live in Brighton either. But it's kind of you to mention.'

Harry didn't need to check. He knew every bloke in the hall had fixed their gaze at the girl in ivory dress, or at least tried to glare at her direction, because he was one of them. She was the kind of girl who was naturally pretty, and the simplicity, yet elegance of her attire, somehow made the colourful dresses wore by other girls seemed so flashy and unnecessary in contrast. He withdrew before it became a rude staring contest, scarcely catching a side-glance of Ron with mouth agape and Hermione was poking his arm irritably. Looking at the table briefly, Harry wondered about their association and what the heck dividends and preference shares were.

* * *

><p>The Hall was suddenly full of jubilances; a group of wizards were walking towards the far tables on the red carpet, with Kingsley Shacklebolt in lead, followed by Percy Weasley. Harry could see Mr Weasley and Robarts among them from far. As they approached the tables, the exultation went on. Kingsley remained standing while others took their seats. With a hand gesture, he beckoned the crowd to cease cheering.<p>

'Before we begin our banquet,' said Kingsley, looking around at them all. 'I would like to welcome all our employees and their honourable guests to this little celebration we're holding tonight.'

He paused, making sure he had everyone's attention and continued, 'Events happened over the last a few years have been…overwhelming at least. We lost many great wizards and witches of our time. It's important for me to leave the tragedies behind - the darkness belonged with the past, not the present, not the future. But I'd like to take this moment, to remind you of those who sacrificed for peace, for our joy and harmony in many, many years to come - their courage and fortitude should never be _forgotten_.'

The hall was deadly silent as the speech echoed in a loud, rumpling voice. Draco had his eyes shut, hands clutching the armrests of his chair with so much force that the skin around his knuckles tightened and went all white.

Sadness came upon them, many heads bowed. By which time Kingsley continued, Harry held his chin high, trying not to let the overwhelming emotion consume him totally.

'And another issue I'd like to address here - we live in a turbulent world, in which sense it's diverse and versatile. We're nothing without the surrounding elements - it's our responsibilities to take care the relationship with each other, with other magical kinds, with non-magical beings. As the new Minister of Magic, I hope, from now on, we can work on putting our differences aside, moving towards a brighter, and more cohesive future for our world.' With a final glance, he concluded, 'I think it's been enough delay already. Without further ado, let the feast begin.'

The Hall was quiet for a minute or two before everyone was chatting again. Draco was sulking; putting our differences aside my ass, just another way of saying the Ministry still wanted support and obedience from the old Wizarding families until they were all wiped out. There weren't many of them left anyway. He then remembered where he was and pushed all his thoughts away. Turning to Alya, Draco said with forced lightness, 'So that was that. Fancy a drink?'

'Love one. What can we have?'

Draco examined the jars at the centre of the table, 'I think there are butterbeer, pumpkin juice, wine and eggnog.'

She wrinkled her nose a little, 'I take pumpkin juice then if there aren't any real drinks.'

Draco eyed Alay with new found curiosity. Witches weren't supposed to enjoy drinking whereas stronger sprits were mostly drunk by wizards; overindulgence often suggested unsound minded, dependency, inability to control oneself, which was considered grossly uncivilised. He had never seen his mother sipping anything other than wine.

She was unfazed under his wondering gaze was, 'Well, it's been a long day.' He suppressed the urge to laugh and poured juice for her.

In the seat next to Proudfoot, a witch, wearing a bizarre pale pink dress, which was neither flattering nor fitting, was watching them with what appeared to be open fascination. She spoke, 'Miss Wethersfield, how did you know Malfoy?'

As if that was any of her business. How irritating. Alya's voice came calm and collected, 'We belong to the same Potion group. That's how we know each other.'

From the other side of table, the Lovegood girl suddenly screamed, giving everyone a startle. She didn't blink, 'You're Alya Wethersfield.'

'Yes. I am.'

'No, you're that Alya Wethersfield.'

'Luna, is it? You probably remember me from school years. I was in Ravenclaw. Though I graduated three years ago.'

'What have you been doing since Hogwarts then?' Now it was Granger's turn to enquire.

'I went to King's College to study Applied Chemistry.'

'King's College? That's impressive.'

Draco was regarding the table like it was the most interesting thing he had ever laid eyes on. Either that or he had to pretend he actually gave a toss about what his peers and their esteemed guests had to say. This was _going_ to a long night. At first he was almost relieved to see plates of roasted potatoes, carrots, and sprouts appeared on the table. Then the sight of an enormous turkey made him grunt in anguish; it was his least favourite type of meat, so bland in taste and had a powdery texture. At the Manor they always had roasted goose for Christmas. Dammit, I didn't come for the food anyway, at least the food can shut people up, he reasoned while spreading a thick coat of what looked like cranberry sauce on slices of turkey in hope to disguise the favour, or the lack of it.

Kingsley was making stop at every table, greeting people in person. It didn't take long before he stopped in front of theirs, grinning, 'Good evening, everybody. I hope you're all having a good time.'

'Miss Wethersfield, what a surprise to have you with us tonight- I see you've come as a companion to young Malfoy.' Kingsley looked baffled, but didn't dwell on the subject. 'I must thank you for all the wonderful work you did for St. Mungo's after the war.'

'Sir, it's an honour to be here. May I congratulate you on your recent official appointment.'

'Thank you, Miss Wethersfield,' said Kingsley with a smile. 'I'm not much of a dancer myself. So Mr Weasley here has kindly offered his service to dance on my behalf.'

Percy stepped out from behind Kingsley, giving them a nod. Ron looked like he wished there was a hole on the floor so he could just hide there. Percy asked, 'Miss Wethersfield, may I have the honour to dance with you at the opening set?'

'Oh,' said Wethersfield, sounding tentatively. 'I'm afraid I've promised the opening set to Draco. How about I reserve the second set for you?'

Percy didn't even blanch, 'Second set it is then.'

Kingsley laughed, 'It's nice when things work out. I must be on my way now. Merry Christmas, everyone.'

Draco was caught between great annoyance and utter frustration. An uneventful dinner at the Ministry party was clearly out of the window at this point. He leaned closer and lowered his voice so others couldn't hear them. 'What did you do for St. Mungo's?'

'I brewed potions for the injured after the war. That was about it. Nothing fancy.' Alya said softly.

Draco wasn't sure how he felt about it. The girl was like an onion, underneath the surface, there were layers and layers of pungent truth, nothing like what it seemed at face value.

'Draco, I'm not one to brag about what I've done in the past,' said Alya firmly, looking into his eyes. 'I hope you understand that.'

'Okay. I see your point.'

Draco shrugged but he didn't argue. It wasn't a good time to discuss this further. Around the table people were busy talking and bolting down their food at the same time. Potter was laughing about something with the weasel brother, and the sister giggled right next to him. How predictable of Potter; couldn't join the weasel clan fast enough. Draco heard the rumours they broke up at the brink of the war. From the look of it, it didn't take that long for them to get back together. No doubt there would be more and more ginger, freckled brats running around in a few years' time, infesting and over-populating. Absolutely loathsome, the mental image alone was bad for digestion.

Granger, on the other hand, held out her hands and looked like she was about to press her temples with them. She waved at them, evidently in a way of detouring, 'So tell me about your Potion group?'

Great. Engaging in hideous small talks at dinner table with antagonist from old times was simply wonderful. Draco stifled an unleashed groan. 'We just carry out our research and talk about it among members. That's all we do.'

'What are you working on, then?'

'I can't speak for other members but I'm currently working on Bezoar. Rather unsuccessful at the moment.'

'You're gonna catch a break,' said Alya in a reassuring voice, a soft, feminine hand running down on Draco's arm quickly. 'I'm sure you will.' For a second, people became entirely too interested on Alya's hand movement, especially those dim-headed witches, all had wired expressions on their faces, with alarming glint in their eyes. Alya looked a little taken aback, then she gave them a dazzling smile, one of those said 'Only-Merlin-knows-what-you-are-on-about-but-I-am-going-to-smile-so-you-don't-know-what-to-say', which kind of smile he saw far too often when Narcissa had to deal with the annoying wives of his father's associates.

* * *

><p>Soon afterwards the orchestra had arrived, trooping up onto the stage. The dance was about to start. Alya was looking at the dance floor and smiled with unconcealed pleasure. Draco took a sip from his glass before he let her gallantly towards the dance floor.<p>

Harry knew what was coming but he figured he owned Ginny one dance at least. She was positively beaming when she placed her hand excitedly on his sleeve. Ron and Hermione were also getting up, as well as other couples; the dance floor was filling up. Once they all stood on the brightly lit floor, a waltz number started. At first he focused on not treading Ginny's feet. Quickly he relaxed, perhaps he wasn't a dance master, however, it was a slow dance, avoiding his partner's feet wasn't that difficult. They soon joined other couples, following the line of dance dancing counter-clockwise. Neville and Luna were dancing nearby - the girl had a dreamy expression on her face and danced as if she was sleep-walking. Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy and his partner, who was moving gracefully in his arms.

The older weasel wasted no time to claim his set, which he came as soon as the waltz ended. Draco left Alya in his charge, and was making his way back to the table. Out of nowhere, an unfamiliar, twittering witch stopped him. 'My name is Helena Towson,' said the strange witch, and then she burst into more giggles. 'I work at the Official Gobstones Club. I was wondering if you have the second set free.'

Draco was troubled; turning down a witch at a dance party would be a straight set down, which, of course, was inappropriate behaviour at a work party. He couldn't come up with a decent excuse on the spot since he was indeed without a partner for the second set. There was no way out. He sighed, leading the witch back to the dance floor.

They just got back from the dance floor. Harry sipped on pumpkin juice while the girls were getting better acquainted. He was listening to them absentmindedly until Proudfoot's date for the evening, Regina, who worked for the Department of Magical Games and Sports, said something caught his attention.

'…I see Helena's made her move. Didn't think she had it in her though. Especially not since Malfoy brought this pretty girl along…'

Merlin, what's with girls and gossips? He searched in the crowd; it was easy to spot Malfoy's blonde head, and he was dancing with a plump, short witch.

'You're not suggesting this Helena had romantic feelings towards Malfoy, are you?' asked Hermione, with great hesitation.

'Yes. And she isn't the only one at the Ministry.'

Ginny covered her month, gasping in shock. Regina wasn't finished yet. '…We all know what he was. But he is a good looking bloke beyond the shadow of a doubt. The bad boy thing just adds another appeal to it. Many girls thought they had a chance when he started _Auror_ training. I mean, with the Parkinson girl not in the picture and everything. Of course that was too good to be true. Look at him turning up with a stunner…'

Ron's face went so white, as if he was about to faint. Ginny hushed Regina as Malfoy's guest had come back from the dance floor. Hermione attempted to include her in the conversation with a passable question, something to do school work. Ron came out of the shock, taking Ginny's seat, 'Can you believe everything we just heard?'

'I guess he's not bad looking.' Harry said matter-of-factly.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, if you're into the poncy, slimy git type – '

* * *

><p>Draco was in hell. This must have been the third sniggering witch he had danced with. He had no idea why they all wanted to dance with him but he was going bonkers. They just wouldn't stop <em>fucking<em> giggling. In the short time they weren't doing that, they babbled on incomprehensible gibberish. Again he had to pretend he actually cared, not that they needed any input from him. And the constant stepping on his foot! This had to stop so he said to another approaching witch before another valse begun, 'I'm sorry. I really need to attend to my date. Later, perhaps. Have a nice evening.'

Alya was standing by the table; she handed over a glass when he got back. 'Here, you look like you need it.'

As he gushed down the containing liquid, he tasted sweetness at the tip of his tongue, saltiness along the sides, dryness and bitterness at the back. He felt his throat burn and the warming, fizzy feeling travelled all the way to his stomach. 'You brought Firewhisky,' asked Draco, staring at Alya in disbelief.

'It's just single malt really.' She looked at him innocently. 'You never had anything nice to say about work. I thought you might need to … take off the edge a little bit. Don't you like it?'

Draco chortled, his mood considerably improved. 'It's not that. If I knew what it was, I wouldn't have spurted it.' She gave him a mischief smile and took out a little flask from her silver leather handbag.

The blonde hurried back to the table, looking disgruntled, like he was being chased by something or _someone_, the horror on his face was amusement on its own. Now he was back, everyone at the table was eavesdropping on him and his date again. After a quick peek of the party programme, Harry heard her say, 'The next one is… Libertango? Draco, you had me understand the Ministry party was… conservative.'

Malfoy took the programme from her and started to inspect it. 'Perhaps they mistook it for a Waltz. Oh well, can you tango?'

'I was told I had the dancing foot.'

'Let's go then.'

* * *

><p>Harry was no expert in music, nor had he any idea what they were talking about; nevertheless he was instantly captivated by the dramatic rhythms. The sound's complexity, richness, and sometimes discordance left him feeling haunted and entranced. Something inside him clicked, he was left wanting to hear more. It was a blend of emotion and aggressiveness, the melody which winded into its own pattern flawlessly, yet entangled at every turn. He looked around and judging by people's expressions, he wasn't the only who was so enthralled over its elaborate arrangements.<p>

When it begun, there were several couples on the dance floor; it wasn't long before they cleared the way for Malfoy and his partner. It seemed that Tango wasn't something inexperienced dancers could improvise as they went along. The only pair left on the floor was moving counter clockwise around the outside of the floor. He thought it looked like walking rather than dancing, with lots of uneven foot crossing. Every now and then they stopped to kick legs. Sometimes one remained still while the other person kicked. Other times both of them flipped to different directions. The steps were fast; Harry couldn't be sure.

After a slight turn of heads, Malfoy was motionless, while the girl circled to the rhythm. One of her hands was in his, cradled above her head. She wasn't in a hurry, lifting a foot off the floor, the weight was shifted to her other foot: the toe of her other foot, more precisely; the turn was effortlessly casual and subtle. And Malfoy let her, through their joining hands, guiding her to spin, like she was an instrument under his fingers, her movements were completely at his command.

She made a twisting motion, and swirled back into Malfoy's arms, light as a feather, resting her left hand on his right shoulder. Following that was another set of wandering about on the dance floor, with the occasional feet tucking. The notes took a sharp turn; the girl broke from the complete embrace of their arms, held out one hand, placing it right below Malfoy's shoulder. She pushed him, yes pushed him and all of the sudden, the lead role switched. He was striding backwards and the girl glided forward until their arms were entwined into a relaxed embrace again.

Harry could almost hear his own heartbeats. As much as he hated to admit, it was a very electrically charged performance. They would make a handsome couple. Malfoy was tall for a bloke, six foot one he stood easy, probably one or two inches taller than Harry himself. She was slim and elegantly turned out, with just the right height next to him. It was probably with the aid of heels, if what he learned from Ginny about girls and their heels was anything to go by. They seemed compatible and Malfoy was … at ease around her. He acted different, not like how he behaved in the company of girls at Hogwarts. Not that Harry was paying much attention back then but the Slytherin constantly looked very smug and his act of wooing was always superficial. Now he just laughed freely when he was talking to her. Well, if he was happy with that girl, it might be a positive influence.

The music had moved into a string of lush, grandiose beats. The girl turned around, stretching her arms out; her hands flapping flowingly. Within seconds, she fell into Malfoy's waiting arms. He locked her open arms with his folding upright and then whirled her around. The crowd gathered by the side of the dance floor let out collective plaudits, mixed by applause and cheering.

With a final flourish, the music stopped. Everyone was panting when Malfoy threw her towards the other side of the dance floor. What happened next was unthinkable; she managed to turn to face him in middle of air, landing on both legs, which were bended backwards at the curve of her body, with one hand on the floor to support her weight, another stretching out towards his direction.

It had taken the crowd by storm as they were clapping into ovation. Malfoy hurried forward to help her to her foot. They were both grinning. The girl even sank into an elegant little bow when she turned to face the crowd. Harry watched Malfoy lowering his head to whisper something to her ear. She laughed and whispered back.

The two of them returned to the table in haste. She said to them before collecting her belongings, 'It's getting late. We'd better to be on own way. Merry Christmas, everyone.'

Malfoy looked calm but the glow on his pale skin was visible. He murmured 'Laters' a couple of times and took his leave.

Nobody spoke at the table until Ron let out an exasperated sigh, 'Lucky bastard. I bet he can't wait to get her alone so he can have his way with her…'

'Ron, do you mind?' yelled Hermione, sounded utterly disgusted and she was now looking at her boyfriend in a reproaching way.

Harry choked into his pumpkin juice. He was in shock; surely they were not going to do _THAT_. Heat instantly built up, which made him feel light-headed. Ginny quickly patted his back to ease away the violent cough. He made a point to avoid Ginny's eyes.

* * *

><p>Draco looked at the crowd around them, leaning closer to say to Alya, 'Alya, do you mind if we go now? If I have to dance with another witless witch, I'm gonna go mad.' Once he said that he realised how wrong it came out, quickly adding, 'I don't mean you, of course.'<p>

Alya laughed, 'Sure. I have things to do tomorrow anyway. An early night would be good.'

After they made their exit, Draco soon found them in the hallway leading to the Staff Apparition point. The events occurred that evening was still fresh, vivid in his head. Alya let out a joyful, unhinged laughter, suddenly beginning to run among the hallway. He laughed and followed her. They stopped in the yard, still laughing and panting. Draco barely stopped for a second, and said in a shaky voice, 'I probably will never live this down in the office. Who cares anyway? Screw them - '

Alay didn't seem to have heard him. She held her hand together, staring at something on her palms attentively. Draco was puzzled; until he felt something cold dropped on his face, looking up in confusion, it was then he saw little snowflakes falling from the night sky. Alya was pouncing right next to him. She shoved her hand to him, 'Look, it's snowing. It's a white Christmas after all…'

All he saw was her pink lips parting and closing. He bended his head and took her month.

Draco moved his month on hers; she didn't move, neither did she respond. It felt almost like kissing Pansy, which made no sense at all. Alya was much prettier and far more enchanting. Underneath that thin dress, there were unmistakable soft, feminine curves if all the previous embrace wasn't giving false inclination. The brief excitement he felt while they were dancing now vanished. He desperately tried to remember what Pansy did before. His hands moved up to cradle Alya's head. His fingers dug into her hair. She opened her mouth slightly, perhaps a faint suggestion. He moved his lips on hers restlessly, teasing her tongue with his. It felt like an exhausting exercise. With Pansy, he just assumed it was her outright eagerness that put him off. It would have been a better experience with a different, more likeable girl.

Disappointedly he let go off her. She looked hesitated, giving him a considering look. 'It was … awkward. We are friends. So let's keep that way, shall we?'

Draco took refuge in the wistfulness. 'Agreed. It's better that way.'

'I'd better be going then.' She managed a small smile. 'Draco, have a nice Christmas.'

'You too.'

With a soft rustle of her dress, she disapparated into the night. He stood there a bit longer, watching snowflakes felling down, before it hit the ground and melted without leaving a mark.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Malfoy Townhouse<em>**

_Dear Alya,_

_Please forgive my abruptness and accept this as…_

Draco crumpled the note and tossed it onto the fire just as the three notes he had written before this one. On the table, there was an expensively looking long black leather box with 'Glenfidditch' and 'Firewhisky proudly bottled in 1857' painted in gold on it.

He watched the fire burning for a long moment. After careful contemplation, he placed another parchment and begun writing:

_Alya,_

_It's Christmas and I want to give this to the one person I know who would truly appreciate this._

_Draco_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes<strong>: Thank you for all your support and patience! I'm writing a few things here and in my profile, just making sure you can see them. There will be a sequel for Desire, most likely more than one. But once it's up, it will be under a different name. So instead of setting the story alert, it might be best to set the author alert. I'm sorry I can't give a time line as yet because I don't want to disappoint you. But I will get to it as soon as I can. Again, thank you all!

As always, feedbacks are appreciated!

It might not be a good place for me to put this but I just want to say, Scandalous is the first piece of creative writing I've ever done and I wrote Desire after Draco's birthday. Desire was revised many times and betaed-Scandalous wasn't. I'm aware of some misused words and probably inappropriate use of grammar in the previous chapters which I intend to fix them in the near future. So please bare with me. :-)


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